


Strawberry Holidays

by alekszova



Series: Sumo's [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mostly fluff., Past Abuse, but not too much!, hell yeah, the boys are happy.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Gavin finds a list of holidays and attempts to celebrate as many as possible with Connor.





	Strawberry Holidays

**New Years Day | January 1** **st**

He’s not really sure why when he wakes up he thinks of it, but he does. A small nudge in the back of his head. A random, foolish idea. He doesn’t leave the bed. He can’t. Connor’s arms are like a comforting prison around him, holding him close.

Gavin reaches for his phone, dims the light before it can blind him in the dark of the room and he looks through all of the silly holidays that exist. Stupid small ones. Things people wouldn’t know about and he decides to do something for each and every one.

  
  


**Cuddle Up Day | January 6** **th**

Connor’s alarm clock is an annoying little thing. A high-pitched beep that always pulls him from his sleep, always means that Connor will be leaving him soon. Every morning when Connor starts to pull away from him, he tries his best to get him to linger for a few more minutes so he can stay wrapped inside of Connor’s warmth, tucked away safe and happy against his chest. It doesn’t work very often. Connor is a punctual person. Cursed with it, really. Never wants to be late, rarely presses the snooze button, always leaving Gavin alone and cold in the bed.

“Stop,” he whines, grasping at his shirt, tugging him back. “It’s Cuddle Up Day, you’re not allowed to leave.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not. You can Google it.”

“Gavin—”

“Don’t leave,” he whispers, pulling Connor back, pinning him to the bed and curling up close, breathing in the soft scent of his skin. Strawberries. Always strawberries. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I have work.”

“Call in.”

“I can’t. After, I’ll come straight home. Cuddle as much as you want.”

“It won’t be the same.”

There’s a kiss placed against his forehead, arms wrapping back around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says but he doesn’t leave. He stays for longer than Gavin thought he would—a fact he can apply for virtually any part of their relationship—but he does leave. The bed feels frozen and empty when he’s gone and he tries his best to drift back to sleep before he needs to get ready for work himself, but he lies awake, staring at the spot where Connor used to be instead, losing a precious hour of sleep.

 

He waits for Connor to come home, working late to help prepare for a few things at Sumo’s. Upcoming holidays that need to have dough readied and frozen to save time. Daniel doesn’t know every recipe yet, often calling in the middle of the day to ask Connor for clarification.

But going into Connor’s apartment to wait for him—

It is a plus this time.

 

The door opens and it takes less than a minute, less than two feet inside, the door not even closed, for Gavin to be on him, kissing him and tugging at his coat, pulling his hat away and leaving his hair in a mess.

Connor reaches a hand up, cupping his face and kissing Gavin back, directing him to a slower kiss, less hungry and less devouring. Less terrifying. Terrifying in the sense that the last time they were together, he nearly cried afterward. Terrifying because it was over a month ago with neither of them saying anything else, pretending almost as if it hadn’t happened.

He feels cruel sometimes. Denying Gavin something he wants. His relationship with Eddie was different. Of course it was different. It was cruel and violent—but the sex part started early on. Not something either of them skipped around. It was present in an instant. It’s been six months with Gavin since they officially started calling each other boyfriends, it’s been six months and they’ve had sex once.

He knows it’s important, how it can be a vital part of a relationship between two people.

Connor pulls away, hopes Gavin doesn’t see the look on his face and ask him what’s wrong. He’s good at noticing these things. When he goes quiet in a way that isn’t from just being a quiet person. When his laugh or smile is forced out and fake but contains an essence of trying so much to make it real.

“I missed you,” Gavin says quietly, placing another kiss against his lips. Chaste this time, short. Confirming his words like Connor wouldn’t believe him. “You alright?”

“I’m looking forward to Cuddle Up Day,” he replies instead of answering the question.

The arm that slipped around him pulls him a little closer and he wishes Gavin would never let him go. Keep a hold of him forever. Sway some of the thoughts in his head that tells him he’s doing something wrong.

They stay like that for a moment, Gavin holding him close before letting him go, extricating himself from Connor’s too tight grip. He kicks off his shoes, hangs up his coat while Gavin walks back to the living room. The door behind him closes, the only time his eyes leave the back of Gavin’s head.

And then he follows him, setting his keys down on the counter, stopping for a moment at the edge of it.

“This is what you did while I was gone?” he asks.

Gavin sits down on the edge of the mattress, pulled from the bed frame and laid neatly in the middle of the living room, blankets draped over chairs to create a canopy above it. Every pillow in the house tossed to the head of the bed, blankets pooling around the edges.

“Is it okay?”

He smiles and nods. “It’s perfect.”

Gavin motions for him to come over to the bed, pulling him down onto his lap when he gets close enough, decorating his jaw and his neck with kisses, a hand moving up underneath the hem of Connor’s shirt, holding him there for a moment as if he’s contemplating something.

“I missed you.”

“I know. You said that once.”

“Yeah, but I can say it again, can’t I?”

Connor laughs and Gavin’s hand on his back moves to his waist, turning him towards the bed, pressing him down against the mattress.

“I missed you,” he says again, repeats it over and over again between kisses around Connor’s face as he scrunches up his nose, and tries his best not to smile at each word.

It’s nice to feel loved enough to be missed. It’s nice to have someone like Gavin in his life.

“Are you done?” Connor asks, hands pretending to push him away when they’re really pulling him closer.

“No,” Gavin says, placing one last kiss against his lips. “I missed you and now you have to suffer the consequences.”

“You going to kiss me to death?”

“Not to death. I don’t want you dead. You’d haunt me and I’d never get over you.”

Connor smiles, “You’d never get over me anyways.”

“No,” Gavin says with a shrug. “I wouldn’t.”

He leans upwards, catching Gavin’s lips with his, distracts him with it long enough that Gavin melts against him, letting his guard down enough for Connor to roll them over again, leaning back with Gavin underneath him, pinned to the mattress.

For a moment, he thinks about how easy it would be for them to shed their clothes and just have sex again and break a barrier. Like one more time might finally shatter that last wall Connor has between them. Like it would turn him into the kind of person Gavin might want. Someone who would return his kisses with an eagerness that they don’t shove down deep into the pit of their stomach.

But instead he lays against Gavin’s chest, presses his face against his neck and hides there. Whatever was keeping him from breaking has fallen away and he feels just as fragile as he did before he opened the door. Starting off the morning wrong, going through the day without someone beside him to help comfort him and keep him from feeling lost.

“Can you hold me, Gavin?”

The arms wrap around him tight, a movement of his head as he leaves another kiss against his face. “Of course. Everything alright?”

“I’ll be okay,” he replies, avoiding the question, avoiding how impossible it is to put into words that he has felt drowned in a variety of feelings, none of them connected, but all making him feel truly awful..

“Con?”

He curls up further, presses his lips against Gavin’s neck, his jaw. “I missed you, too.”

“Con, should we talk about this?”

Probably.

“I don’t want to. It’s Cuddle Up Day.”

“Okay,” he says and it’s quiet for a moment, the mood shifting back and forth so much it’s like Connor has a hard time holding onto it. “I caught Mocha on the fridge today. I don’t how the fuck the girl got there.”

Connor smiles, a small hidden thing. And he listens to Gavin talk about stupid stuff. How difficult it was to move a mattress out here by himself. How much effort it took to put the blankets in the right place. Things from his past that were funny and light-hearted enough that the two of them can put the other aspect of his childhood on pause.

It isn’t often that Gavin holds him like this. Very rarely. He can’t even remember the last time. But sometimes he needs it. To be the one that’s held, to be the one that feels caged in by arms that are meant to protect instead of harm. He listens to Gavin talk and talk and talk about things that help pull his attention away from the feelings inside of his chest and he can feel himself smile more and more until eventually, the two of them fall asleep here, eyes slipping closed and dreams finding their way in.

  
  


**Bubble Bath Day | January 8** **th**

It’s a good idea in theory. A bubble bath with somebody he loves. Being that close in proximity to them, able to just hold them and have a moment with the two of them in the peace and quiet, surrounded by water and bubbles. In execution—

Better than he thought.

Gavin doesn’t look at Connor when he climbs into the bath, most of his body hidden by the bubbles, covered up and out of sight even if Gavin tried to look at any part of his body. But Connor is awkward and vaguely uncomfortable against Gavin’s arms for the first part of it, even with Gavin asking him if this is okay, telling him he doesn’t have to do this just to celebrate a holiday. He understands boundaries. He understands the need to build walls and protect oneself. He loves Connor. More than anything.

Maybe it should have been the other way around. Gavin leaning against Connor, a promise that he wouldn’t see anything Connor wouldn’t want him to. 

He presses a kiss against Connor’s shoulder for the tenth time, careful of where his hand is in the water as it moves to his abdomen, making light touches against his skin. It’s not sexual. Not in any way. Just comforting caresses as Connor leans back against him, a little less rigid, a little less scared.

_ This is not sexual. _ He said that this morning when he told Connor he wanted to do this. A warning so he’d have the day to decide whether or not he wanted it. He told him again and again as the water filled up, as the bubbles took over the bathroom. It doesn’t have to be sexual. It’s just to relax. Something small for the two of them to be together.

Gavin was honestly genuinely surprised when Connor agreed, although grateful. He leaves an obnoxious amount of kisses against his shoulder, traces out shapes on Connor’s forearm. Words occasionally. Mostly a pattern of an  _ 8  _ again and again. Infinity, he thinks.

Forever.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing his neck again, feeling Connor move against him, almost like he’s squirming.

“I love you, too.”

Gavin smiles, hides it against Connor’s skin because he will never get tired of hearing him say it. It makes his stomach do flips every time.

In a few months, it will be an exact year since they met, since they got together.  _ April 3 _ _ rd _ _.  _ Standing out in the rain, begging for coffee from a stranger.

The two of them talk, voices quiet, subjects jumping and falling apart. The two of them opting for silence mostly in this moment instead of something else. If Connor was more comfortable, maybe he would make him laugh by putting the bubbles over his face, by allowing himself to touch Connor in places like his sides or his arms or his back like he always does. But it’s different when they have clothing separating his fingertips from skin, from scars.

So the two of them are quiet until the conversation comes to a lull, the hot water starts to go warm, Connor’s breathing slowing and he falls into a quiet fragile slumber against Gavin’s chest. He lets him sleep, listens to the soft noise of his snoring. Comfortable enough to fall asleep like this. Trusting Gavin this much.

He wants to say those three words again and again and again. Make sure Connor doesn’t forget it. Make sure that the happiness and the love he feels on the inside is voiced even to an annoying degree.

When the water starts to turn cold, he wakes Connor slowly. Hands moving around his waist, lips brushing his shoulder, a quiet, “Connor?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go to bed, okay?”

Connor mumbles something that Gavin can’t understand, a tiny laugh following, broken and quiet like his voice can’t quite manage it. He lingers there for a moment, pulling Gavin’s hand away from his body threading their fingers together.

“Don’t…”

“I won’t,” he whispers. “I promise.”

Connor nods, hesitates for a moment before he pulls himself out of the bath. The water long grown cold, the sound of droplets hitting the tile. Gavin keeps his eyes closed, waits and waits as the sound of clothes shuffling beside him comes to a stop.

And then—

A soft kiss pressed to his cheek.

“Thank you for this. It was nice.”

“You want to do it again sometime?”

He feels Connor smile against his cheek, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“You going to fall asleep on me next time?”

Another kiss and he feels Connor pull away.

“Maybe.”

  
  


**Houseplant Appreciation Day | January 10** **th**

“What is that, Gavin?”

“It’s a plant. For you.”

“Why?”

“It’s Houseplant Appreciation Day.”

“So you… got me a plant?”

“Yeah. So you can appreciate it.”

“Why didn’t you get yourself one?”

“Because it would die a slow and painful death. I thought it would live longer with you, Con.”

  
  


**National Dress Up Your Pet Day | January 14** **th**

He watches Gavin capture the cat, chasing her around the apartment before finally scooping her up and setting her down on the couch, slipping the little black hoodie over her head, bat-like wings and green eyes.

“Did you make that?” Connor asks, leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter.

“No,” Gavin says, adjusting Mocha’s wings. “Chloe did.”

“You had Chloe make the cat a costume?”

“I might’ve mentioned it in casual conversation—”

“When have you ever had casual conversation with Chloe?”

Gavin looks up, smiling a little bit and holding the cat up, “Look how ferocious she is, Con.”

“She’s adorable.”

“Ferocious,” Gavin corrects.

“Right. Ferocious. A lot like you, yes?”

All pretend on the outside with his sharp teeth and sharp claws but nothing except soft mushiness on the inside. Dressing a cat in a dragon costume. Sometimes Connor wonders how he managed to get so lucky.

“I love you.”

Gavin’s smile grows a little wider, “I love you, too.”

  
  


**World Penguin Awareness Day | January 20** **th**

It’s less than a minute. Maybe fifty-seconds. He wakes to the sound of the alarm clock, reaching over and turning it off before coming back to face Gavin, who’s groggy and bleary-eyed but still nuzzles in closer to Connor when he presses a kiss against his forehead.

And then—

Gavin moves away, suddenly awake, reaching blindly around on the nightstand beside him and appearing back with a small blue stuffed animal in his hands.

“What is that?” Connor mumbles, eyes too tired to focus in the dark.

“It’s a penguin. Are you not aware of penguins, Con?”

“I’m aware of penguins, Gavin. Why do you  _ have  _ it?”

“World Penguin Awareness Day,” he says. “It’s for you. So you can be aware of penguins for more than just a day.”

“Babe—”

“It’s blue.”

“I can see that.”

“Do you like it?”

He sighs and takes it from Gavin’s hand, leaning forward and tipping his chin up to kiss him properly. “I love it. I’ll be aware of penguins for the rest of my life.”

Gavin laughs and it’s always such a nice sound. A little bit wonderful. A little bit perfect.

  
  


**Squirrel Appreciation Day | January 21** **st**

There’s a stuffed squirrel sitting on the top of the dresser when he wakes up. The bed empty, a Gavin sized shape missing beside him. Connor tilts his head, watching the stuffed animal as it slips from where it stands, falling onto its side and he shakes his head, getting out of bed and picking it up, turning it over in his hand. Soft fabric used to make up the outside, shiny black beads for eyes, a little acorn in his hands.

“Good morning.”

Connor turns to him, “World Squirrel Awareness Day?”

“No. Squirrel Appreciation Day. But you should always be aware of squirrels, Con. They’re sneaky little thieving bastards.”

“Okay. I’ll appreciate from a distance while I remain aware.”

“That’s a very good plan,” Gavin replies as he steps over to him, reaching up and placing a kiss against his lips and he wonders if the rest of the year will be like this. Silly things left around the house, stupid jokes told over breakfast and coffee.

He hopes so.

  
  


**Answer Your Cat’s Question Day | January 22** **nd**

"Why are you looking at her like that?"

Gavin narrows his eyes, doesn't move his gaze from Mocha's as if he's locked in a staring contest with her.

"It's Answer Your Cat's Question Day."

"And?"

"I'm trying to figure out what questions she has."

Connor moves towards the couch, his fingers hooking onto Gavin’s belt loops, tugging him away from the cat. "Come to bed, Gavin. She's a cat, you’re not going to figure this out."

"Wait—" he says, turning to slap Connor's hands away from him. "I think I'm getting something."

As if he's a psychic receiving a vision. Connor rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, "What is it?"

"She wants to know if you love her."

"Of course I do."

"She wants to know if you love me, too."

"Gav."

He smiles and looks away from her to him, "Well?"

Connor steps around the couch, sweeping Mocha up off the back and holding her close, pressing a little kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you. And I love that idiot, too," he says with a smile. "Oh? What's that, Mocha? You want to know why Gavin hates strawberries so much? I think it's probably because he's—"

"Better watch yourself, Con."

"—A complete fool."

"That's why you love me, right?"

He nods. One of many reasons. His idiot boy. Who else could make him laugh this much? Who else could've stumbled into his life on a rainy evening and make everything feel a little easier, a little lighter?

He remembers one of their first dates, one of the times Gavin joked about marrying him. It wasn't too long ago. Not even a year. But he remembers the smile on Gavin's face, the layer of determination in his voice.

He hopes Gavin was right.

"You're absolutely correct, Mocha. It  _ is  _ our bedtime and Gavin  _ does  _ owe me."

"Owe you what, exactly?"

"A couple hundred kisses."

"Oh yeah? For?"

"I answered Mocha's questions for you. Translation comes at a price."

"Okay. Sure. I won't argue with you."

Connor sets Mocha down as Gavin makes his way over to him, letting Gavin's hand wrap around his waist and yank him forward, placing the first of a couple hundred kisses against his lips.

  
  


**National Pie Day | January 23** **rd**

Gavin asks him for help. He can’t really do it on his own. He doesn’t have enough faith in his baking skills to do a good job at it alone, even if he wishes this could have been a surprise. And it’s fun—baking with Connor. He likes it. He likes getting distracted from the task at hand because Connor is here with him. Laughing at stupid jokes, pressing him into the counter and leaning up to kiss him. It would be easier if he was taller. Just a little bit. Catching Connor in a kiss when he walks by would be a thousand times easier if he didn’t have to stretch up to get him. But he likes this, too. He likes Connor’s hand on the small of his back, he likes the feel of the fingers tilting his chin up.

The smell of apples fills the kitchen, cinnamon and nutmeg and flour dusting their aprons. Connor’s lips still taste like strawberries and sweet like cookies.

  
  


**National Handwriting Day | January 23** **rd**

There’s a letter left in his dresser. Folded up and left inside a yellow envelope, sitting amongst his shirts. Connor sits on the floor and reads it, smiling at every little word Gavin has written. The  _ p.s.  _ at the bottom with the holiday attached to it. A handwritten love letter. On any day it would’ve been enough to make him smile, to feel his eyes prick with tears with how much he loves him. Somehow, today, with flour still stuck to his clothes and the taste of Gavin’s lips still lingering, it feels like more.

Connor leaves the letter on the top of his dresser, exiting into the kitchen where he finds Gavin on the couch, climbing onto him and pressing kisses against his neck.

“Hey—”

“I love you,” he whispers, tugging the shirt up over Gavin’s head. “I love you, Gavin.”

Maybe it’s because nobody has ever written him a love letter before. Maybe it’s because he has never loved someone like this before. Maybe it’s just because he has never been happier than when he’s with Gavin. He doesn’t know.

But he wants him.

Not when he is sad and lonely and missing him, but when he feels this happy and this content with their relationship.

It’s been a couple of months since they had sex. One time. Lost in the space of distance and time apart. Too quick to have a good memory of. Connor hid from him then, but this time he doesn’t. He lets Gavin turn him over, flipping him and pushing him against the couch beneath him, he lets him take off his clothes, he lets Gavin leaves kisses along his body. On the scars and the curves of his body. He lets him kiss him until Connor feels like there is nothing left but the two of them.

It’s slower this time. No urgency, no rush to get it over with. Not that Connor regrets sleeping with him before. He doesn’t regret any of it. It’s just different. It’s just exactly how he wanted to be treated, how he wanted to be healed by someone he loves, how he wishes their first time had gone instead. Not hiding. Not asking Gavin to look away. 

Gavin keeps asking him it’s okay. If what he’s doing is okay. If something feels okay or if it hurts and he has to keep reassuring him that it’s what he wants, that it’s good, that he loves him and it feels perfect. It feels  _ right. _

“We can stop if—”

“Don’t stop,” Connor whispers, again and again. He doesn’t want this to end.

_ Don’t stop  _ he says when Gavin presses into the spot that makes him bite down on his tongue to stop from being too loud.

_ I love you  _ gets passed back and forth between them so much Connor wonders if he knows anything other than this small vocabulary.

_ I love you  _ he says when Gavin leans down and kisses his neck, breathing it into his skin like it will stick there and linger forever.

_ Gavin— _ he says broken and panting when a hand touches him, too sensitive to be stroked like that, coming undone easily and far quicker than he wants. Like he could have had this for hours if Gavin had never touched him, like he wanted to be tortured, on the brink for that long.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Gavin says when he cums, collapsing against Connor. Laughing and breathless and still leaving a trail of kisses against his body that makes Connor squirm against him, already wanting more, already wanting Gavin to start up again but also wanting to run, too, keep that part of himself hidden once more. “You’re incredible.”

  
  


**Compliment Day | January 24** **th**

The apartment is covered in sticky notes. Stuck around the place with words scribbled on them hastily. Some of them just have drawings. Little hearts left on pale yellow paper, stuck to the cupboards or the coffee maker or the back of a door. They litter the place, filling it like someone broke into a Staples and took everything they could.

Connor plucks one from where it sits on the edge of the countertop next to his keys.

_ You’re incredible. _

  
  


**Chocolate Cake Day | January 27** **th**

The counters are filled with containers of flour and chocolate chips and sugar. Things set carefully in a neat row, a bowl resting in the center, Connor standing behind the sink with an apron in his hands, holding it out to Gavin.

“We’re baking?”

“We’re baking.”

“Are you alright?”

Connor smiles and nods, “I’m good. Can you get over here?”

Gavin takes a step forward, letting Connor rest the apron around his neck, pulling the strings around his waist and tying them into a neat little knot, leaving a quick kiss before he steps back, pointing towards the recipe book sitting face up.

“It’s Chocolate Cake day,” he says. “We’re making that.”

“I was the one meant to come up with the stupid holidays.”

“Yes,” Connor replies. “But you skipped this one.”

“Maybe. There’s a lot of holidays based around food. You really think we should do them all?”

“No. But we’re doing this one.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

Connor hesitates, reaching out for Gavin’s hand and tugging him to the counter. “Can you preheat the oven?”

“Con—”

He turns towards Gavin, leaning down to kiss him again, hoping it’s enough that Gavin just drops this because he feels very fragile today and the only thing holding him together is not talking about it. That a few years ago, this was the day that Eddie came into his life and turned him into a broken human being.

“I’m fine.”

Gavin leans up, kisses him quick and whispers, “Okay. But later?”

“Later,” he says, like a promise he will actually keep. Like he won’t pretend he’s forgotten about this, like he won’t shove everything under a rug and run away if Gavin pushes him on this.

Tomorrow can work, too. Next week can work. They are both  _ laters _ . It isn’t as if he’s lying.

“I love you.”

“Preheat the oven and maybe I’ll love you, too.”

Gavin laughs but it’s a little forced and he hesitates there for a moment in Connor’s arms, leaning up again to kiss him. His best weapon for comfort. A distraction that Connor always prefers. They talk. Of course they talk. And Connor has a therapist. Gavin has a therapist. It’s fine. They’re fine.

They will be fine, even if they aren’t.

Gavin might be the love of his life. He might not be able to talk about this yet, but someday he will. Someday he might be able to say all of the terrible and awful things Eddie did to him. Things he’s only told Chloe, things he knows he’ll never tell Hank. Things he still keeps from Gavin because he doesn’t want it to change how they are together now.

“I love you, too,” Connor says when Gavin pulls away. “Not just because you’re preheating the oven.”

“Oh, I know. You love me because I’m a hot piece of ass.”

“Shut up,” Connor says through a small laugh, cracking eggs into a bowl, setting aside the shells and looking towards Gavin by the stove, reaching over to press the buttons.

_ Love of his life.  _ It’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, but he thinks it’s true. He can’t picture them apart anymore. Last month he was worried they wouldn’t work. Terrified they’d have to break apart because he never knew how to voice his concerns, always terrified that his intimacy issues would be too much for a boy like Gavin Reed.

But he thinks, now, that they would never be apart. He can’t imagine a situation where they would break up. He can’t imagine them arguing over things that would destroy them. They talk. They try. They fix things. He’s not going to let them break up, never again. It is too heartbreaking a thought to dwell on, but his thoughts fixate on it, trying to convince himself that one day, maybe they could get married. Move into a nice house together. Fill it with plants and pets and books and love.

He has to pretend he can get that, he has to pretend that it’s a possibility. Gavin knows almost everything about him. What else is their left that could truly break the two of them apart?

  
  


**Backwards Day | January 31** **st**

“Backwards Day?” Connor asks, watching Gavin as he carefully walks backward across the living room.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“And then you can nurse me back to health.”

Connor shakes his head, watches the cat make a quick leap away from Gavin’s feet as he stumbles.

“Idiot,” he murmurs.

“You still love me.”

He starts to shrug, starts to say  _ maybe so,  _ when Gavin falls down, feet tripping over themselves, landing hard against the floor and Connor starts to laugh, watching the wounded look cross Gavin’s face.

“Don’t laugh at the injured.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

He shakes his head, “No, but I do love you.”

  
  


**National Pizza Day | February 9** **th**

“That’s a lot of garlic, Gavin.”

“I like garlic.”

“It’s a bit much, maybe?"

“Don’t fucking tell me how to cook.”

 

“You alright?”

“Need some water.”

“Too much garlic?”

“No. It’s the perfect amount. Back off, Con.”

  
  


**Make a Friend Day | February 11** **th**

She cuts in front of him in line. He’s barely paying attention, eyes stuck to his phone, trying to finish the last sentence of a text to Connor. Something equally stupid and ridiculous that Connor sent him. Joking about Gavin making a friend.

Of course he knows he needs them. He is lonely and closed off and while he loves Connor more than anything in the entire world—his world is very small outside of the moments they spend together. Work and the cat and Connor. It’s really all he has. They talk about this in the realm of humorous jokes instead of tackling the problem at hand: Gavin’s inability to connect with people.

He’s talked with North, with Chloe, but it is hard to consider them friends. Chloe is not someone he can stay up late at night with and whisper his secrets to. She is not somebody he’d be able to fully tell what happened to him as a child, what followed him into his adulthood, what haunts him to this day.

North is different. Maybe he can recognize trauma in another person. He saw it, the tiniest sliver of it, in Connor when they started to get closer. He can see it in her, too. The way it follows her like a shadow. They feel—

Similar.

Different.

Two sides of the same coin, maybe. He’s heard that saying enough times that he feels he can steal it for him and the girl. Girlfriend of his boyfriend’s best friend. A long link. No reason for them to actually be in contact. But they talk, sometimes, when they go on their rare double-dates or outings together. Connor and Chloe disappearing off somewhere else together, leaving the two of them estranged. They were forced to get along, essentially, but it wasn’t difficult.

What is difficult is looking up and seeing a girl shoulder her way past him to the register, leaning across the counter, saying her order as if she didn’t just cut in line.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles, but he remembers all the times as a child and seeing his father make a big deal of something. Yelling at a cashier for not bagging his groceries the right way. Screaming at someone because his credit card didn’t work.

He’s not like that.

But he watches the girl like a hawk, a little resentment boiling in the pit of his stomach.

_ Tina.  _ That’s the name scrawled on the cup that she takes away.

Fucking Tina.

  
  


**Ferris Wheel Day | February 14** **th**

"You're afraid of heights?"

Connor nods, weakly. One of the many things in his life that he's terrified of admitting. Children are afraid of heights, but adults know better. They know how to keep their feet firmly planted and to hold onto safety bars and trust that a large piece of machinery like a Ferris wheel is built properly enough that it won't fall apart all around him.

"I've got you," Gavin says and he moves a little closer, holding onto Connor a little tighter. There's a kiss pressed against his cheek and it helps ground him in this spot next to someone he loves instead of focusing on how quickly he'd die if he slipped through the bars and hit the concrete below.

"Thank you," Connor replies and he turns, leaving a kiss against Gavin's lips. Soft and short and not enough to fully encompass how much he loves him, how thankful he really is to have someone like Gavin in his life, teaching him that he can be soft,  he can be loved, he can love in return. 

Sappy and stupid, maybe, but he loves Gavin too much to explain with words. It is bursting from his chest, too much for him to handle. He's falling apart at the seams with it. He wonders how much Gavin can see of it, how much he can tell is written across his face or in his movements, because in a time like this, it’s a wonder how he hasn’t turned into a bright and shining light with all the love and happiness he feels.

  
  


**Valentine’s Day | February 14** **th**

It’s not often. It’s not often and it is always Connor who initiates it. Gavin doesn’t push him. He doesn’t even try. He knows Connor’s past. He knows how difficult this is for him. He isn’t going to ask for it when Connor doesn’t want it, when he doesn’t feel ready for it.

He never wants Connor to feel like he’s obligated to do anything. When they have sex, he wants it to be because it’s what Connor wants. Even if it’s rare. Even if this is only the fourth time. He does his best to make sure Connor knows he’s loved. Pressing kisses and taking it slow and asking him if it’s okay, how it feels, saying he can stop any time he wants.

Gavin doesn’t know everything about Connor’s relationship with Eddie, but he knows it was bad. He knows that sex with him wasn’t always something Connor wanted. That he didn’t always do things because he wanted to do them. Consent with Eddie was removed to a degree that Gavin doesn’t understand.

But he loves Connor. And he knows that having sex with him once isn’t going to break some invisible barrier and turn Connor into someone else. His issues aren’t going to fall away because he decides he wants this one time, two times, five—ten—twenty—

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” Connor says quietly. “I’m not fragile.”

But he feels like he is, sometimes. Sometimes, it feels like he is a moment away from breaking. Gavin knows he shouldn’t treat him like a broken doll but sometimes he simply can’t help it. Connor worries him. He worries him in a way that he doesn’t know how to quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a kiss left against his shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, and I’d tell if you if you were.”

“I know. I just—”

Connor rests a hand against his cheek, leaning upwards and kissing him softly, “Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

_ Okay. _

  
  


**Be Humble Day | February 22** **nd**

“Con?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to compliment me. It’s Be Humble Day and I need you to say something so I can show how humble I am.”

“Go back to sleep, Gavin.”

“Okay.”

  
  


**World Compliment Day | March 1** **st**

He comes back home to the apartment filled with green and blue and pink sticky-notes on every surface. Just like how he had left it a while back.

Except Connor is sitting in the middle of the living room, pen in his hand, a stack of them on his lap.

“What is this?”

“World Compliment Day,” Connor replies. “Very different from Compliment Day.”

“You’re a copycat. A thief.”

“Yes,” he says, scribbling something down, holding up the sticky note. “You have good ideas.”

Gavin steps forward, taking it from his hands.

_ You have good ideas. _

_ Sometimes. _

“Sometimes? Backhanded compliment, I think.”

“Still a compliment.”

Gavin smiles at him, lets the sticky note drift to the floor before melting into Connor’s arms, pushing him back against the floor and kissing him a little rougher and deeper than he usually does. He can feel Connor smiling, can hear the laugh bubbling up inside of him.

“Gav—” he pulls away slowly. “You didn’t read any of them.”

“I will. After this.”

“Okay. Promise?”

“Promise.”

  
  


**Old Stuff Day | March 2** **nd**

"Do you want to go to Hank's?"

"...Why?"

"He's your friend. He hates me. I thought I could make things a little easier, you know? Unburn the bridges. Extend an olive branch. Make peace. "

"No holiday plans?"

"..."

"Gavin, what holiday is it?"

"Make peace with your boyfriend's friend day."

"Gavin."

"It's Old Stuff Day."

"This is exactly why Hank doesn't like you."

"I'm aware."

  
  


**Peach Blossom Day | March 3** **rd**

“You’re good at that,” Connor says quietly, watching Gavin carefully replicate the flowers. 

“What? Like it’s hard?”

Connor rolls his eyes, taking some of the fondant flowers away, carefully adding to them cake, “I was being serious. Maybe you should work at a bakery.”

“Like Sumo’s?”

“I was thinking one more centered around cakes,” he replies. “Sumo’s would be a bad decision.”

“Yeah?”

Connor nods, biting his bottom lip, adding little pearls into the middle of the flowers. “You’re better at that than me. You’d get me fired.”

“Who’s going to secretly make strawberry cookies and have Chloe sell them like contraband at the counter then?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Me and North talk.”

“North?”

“Yes, North.”

“Chloe’s North?”

“Yes, Chloe’s North. Why are you so surprised?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Connor sets the flower back down, turning to Gavin and leaning down enough to kiss him. Distract him from continuing this, having to explain how North is somebody that isn’t always easy to befriend. Always on guard. Connor isn’t close with her. Not like he is with Chloe. It’s a mutual thing—them both hiding away from each other. He does like her, and he hopes that she does genuinely like him, but their friendship is entirely based on Chloe.

But he supposes it shouldn’t be that way for Gavin and North. Gavin is not obligated to be nice to North, and Connor thinks even if he was, he wouldn’t anyway. They’re just good friends.

He likes it.

It makes him happy hearing that Gavin is friends with North. It somehow makes the perfect sense. He hopes like them, too. A little strange at first, a little weird, and then a realization that they are good together.  _ Perfect.  _ Like puzzle pieces sliding into place, like soulmates, like everything the books describe great romances to be.

  
  


**I Want You to be Happy Day | March 3** **rd**

He gets close to Connor, burrows his way against his chest. He's clingy, growing more and more so the longer they date. At night, when they get ready for bed, there is barely any space between them. Connor falls asleep with Gavin laying against his chest and legs tangled with his own and he wakes up with hands underneath his shirt and his face pressed against his neck and protests that either of them have work to attend to.

This feels a little different. The way Gavin holds him, the way he rests against Connor without making jokes and laughing and saying something that ends their night with smiles lost in kisses and kisses lost in smiles.

"Are you happy?"

_ Is he happy? _

"With you?"

"Hm," he mumbles. "In general… in life. Not me, necessarily."

Connor pulls away, pries Gavin away from him and pushes him against the mattress enough to be able to look at his face. Really see it instead of having to guess how he's feeling based on his voice and looking too deeply into how he's holding onto him. Keeping him close but also keeping him at a distance.

"I am happy. In general. In life," he leans down and kisses him gently. "And most certainly with you. You make me very happy. I don't think anyone has ever been as much of a positive influence in my life."

"And you love me?" Gavin replies, but it sounds more like a question than a statement or a joke. 

"I do," he says and kisses him again and again. "I love you very much. More than anything. Are you alright?"

He nods, but it's not quite believable.

"Just thinking today. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Gavin…" Connor caresses his cheek, runs his thumb along his jawline. "Talk to me. Please?"

"I'm fine. I promise. I'm just…" he sighs. "I want you to be happy."

"I am."

"Good," Gavin whispers, taking Connor's hand and kissing his fingertips. "I love you, too, by the way."

"More than anything?"

"More than anything."

  
  


**National Pi Day | March 14** **th**

“It’s National Pi Day.”

“Are we baking again?”

“Wrong pi,” Gavin says, setting a pair of glasses on the counter in front of him. “We’re going to be nerds.”

“Nerds?”

“Yeah.”

“I need more information, Gavin,” Connor says, watching him put a second pair on. Clunky frames. He looks cute.

God.

It takes a moment for it to sink in.

Just how cute he actually looks.

“Are those real?”

“No.”

“They are.”

“No,” Gavin says, taking a step back, crossing his arms. “They aren’t. I don’t—”

“You’ve been secretly hiding the fact you wear glasses from me?” Connor asks.

“W-Why would anyone do that?”

He leans forward onto one hand, a smile spreading across his face, “I’ve no idea. You look cute. I like them. You should wear them more often.”

“This is just for National Pi Day and that’s it.”

“And is this it, just me getting to see you with glasses?”

“You look so pleased with it, maybe I should leave it at this,” Gavin says, and there’s a little smile crossing his face, like he’s finally getting how much Connor likes him with those on. “Does this turn you on?”

“Alright,” Connor says, the smile dropping from his face. “Now you’re taking it too far.”

“It does.”

“It does  _ not.” _

“Oh how the turntables…”

“Shut up. I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Yes, I love you, but I also hate you.”

“I love you, too. Even though you have a glasses kink.”

“Shut  _ up.” _

  
  


**Giant Panda Bear Day | March 16** **th**

It took Connor more effort than he originally planned. It was supposed to be a joke, and then he got wrapped up in this. A bidding war between him and someone named PandaLover248. Maybe they deserved it a little more than Gavin did. He was doing this merely for a joke and he ended up spending $42.69 plus shipping. When it arrived in the mail, he was tempted to use latex gloves. Treat it like a relic found somewhere special.

But here it was, sitting on the pillow next to his on the bed, waiting for his boy to return from the bathroom and collapse back into bed with him. Laugh and kiss and fall asleep for the few more minutes they can spare.

"What is that?"

Connor picks it up, resting the tiny thing in his palm, holding it out to Gavin.

"I assume that it's the world's smallest giant panda stuffed animal," he says, glancing up to Gavin's face. "It was part of a Kelly doll set."

"For giant panda bear day?"

Connor nods.

"Oh my fucking God."

"Do you like it?"

A smile spreads across his face as he crawls back into bed, taking the tiny bear from his hand. No bigger than a quarter. Connor is relatively surprised that he even noticed it on the pillow at all.

"I think you and Mocha have competition for the cutest thing on the planet."

Connor smiles, but it is wiped away when Gavin turns quickly to face him, pressing a kiss against his lips and pushing him back against the pillows again.

"I didn't get you anything," he says as he moves his lips to Connor's neck. "I don't know how to repay you."

"Kiss me a few more times and it'll be a start."

He feels Gavin smile against his skin, kisses placed in quick succession back to his lips again where they linger and he knows that the ten minutes they've allocated to complaining about leaving for work is going to be spent elsewhere. Like the hands under his shirt, prying it from body and kisses leaving a trail downwards to the waistband of his briefs.

And he's glad he swiped this away from PandaLover248. It's one of the few times Gavin hasn't treated Connor like he's about to break.

Still.

He does stop, he does wait for Connor's eager  _ yes yes yes  _ when he asks if this is okay. He just doesn't repeat the question a dozen more times before he believes Connor, before his mouth and his hands go to work to make that  _ yes yes yes  _ tumble from his lips again.

  
  


**St. Patrick’s Day | March 17** **th**

Gavin pinches him in the short time that he is standing in the bedroom without any clothes on. A sneaky little thing on his arm followed by a dozen kisses against it.

"You weren't wearing any green."

“You’re cheating.”

Gavin kisses the spot again, “True. Do you want to even the score? I could get naked, too.”

Connor smiles, but by the time he’s turning around, Gavin is dropping his shirt to the ground, making that expression that he does when he thinks he’s being sexy or cute but really just makes him look like an idiot, which in turn makes Connor smile even wider.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m aware. Come here.”

So he does. Pulled back onto the bed, arms wrapped around his waist, lips pressed against Gavin’s.  _ Sneaky little thing. _

  
  


**Waffle Day | March 25** **th**

It’s usually a Connor thing. Making breakfast. Danishes and muffins and donuts. Pancakes and scones and waffles. Connor spends the night before preparing them, often making Gavin have to pull him away from the kitchen to get some rest, left alone in the bed far too often to the smells of strawberries and coffee floating from the kitchen. Occasionally raspberries, rarely blueberries, almost always strawberries.

But today he steals it. Wakes up early and sifts through Connor’s baking supplies and recipe books and tosses the ingredients together, mixing them with a flinch that it’ll be too loud. It never wakes Gavin, but he falls into a deep sleep sometimes, so difficult to be pulled out of.

He’s aware of when Connor shows up, sitting on the other side of the counter on one of the stools, watching him with that lopsided smile and sleepy expression that Gavin just—

Sometimes it’s  _ infuriating _ .

Sometimes  _ Connor  _ is  _ infuriating _ .

He doesn’t understand how he went through his life like that. Looking so—

Perfect.

Beautiful.

Lovely.

It makes Gavin want to say he hates him sometimes because all he has to do is exist with that stupid lopsided smile and sleepy expression and Gavin wants to drop everything and kiss him until the smile is a little wider and his hair is a little more ruffled.

“I made you breakfast,” Gavin says, lowering the top of the waffle maker down.

“I can see that. Is it for one of your holidays?”

He turns around, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms, “I’m quite capable of making you breakfast without it being a special day.”

“I know. You’ve done it before. But it’s not…”

“Waffles?”

“I was going to say so much of a mess.”

Gavin smiles, “I’ll clean it. No worries.”

“Okay.”

 

They eat together, sitting at the table. Connor with a glass of orange juice, waffles smothered with strawberry syrup. Gavin with coffee, his plate left of crumbs and a river of maple syrup.  _ Too much.  _ Connor tells him that every time. He’s always right. That doesn’t mean Gavin is going to listen to him.

He’s left alone in the kitchen while Connor gets dressed. Plates resting in the sink, a rag picking up the batter and flour on the counter, wiping away the evidence.

On the way out of the door, Connor pauses and kisses him on the cheek, “Happy Waffle Day, love.”

  
  


**Make Up Your Own Holiday Day | March 26** **th**

He isn’t sure what he expected when Gavin told him what the holiday was when he woke up.  _ Make up your own.  _ He joked that he expected creativity. Something completely original that no one else would have thought of.

He did not, however, expect this.

Coming home to his apartment darkened, the cat greeting him with a small meow. Connor scoops her up off the floor, steps further into the small space illuminated by tiny little stars spinning around the room. A light sitting in the center of the room. It looks like a galaxy around him. Sparkling around him.

And music playing.

Soft songs. Nothing he really recognizes, but happy, and not music he would think Gavin would listen to. Too upbeat but still too calm. It’s the kind of music Connor listens to. Things he lets play in the background of baking, never quite paying attention to the words or the artists, only ever caring that it makes his heart feel a little less heavy.

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he says, letting Mocha jump from his arms and make a spot on the back of the couch. “What is this?”

“It’s the holiday.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you going to make me guess?”

“It’s a long title.”

Connor shrugs, nods, urges him to go on as Gavin moves forward, an arm circling around his waist, “It’s Dance With Your Boyfriend in the Dark While Listening to Sappy Music Day.”

“Is that all?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to add the lights into the title, so technically that’s not all.”

“I like it.”

“You do?”

He nods, taking Gavin’s face in his hands and kissing him, “Let’s dance.”

Gavin smiles, his hands moving upwards to loop around Connor’s neck while Connor’s find his waist, pulling him closer. Close enough that they can barely dance but they can kiss. He likes kissing Gavin. He likes being with Gavin. He likes being able to learn that he is allowed to have these things. That Eddie didn’t ruin him when they were together.

Wherever he is—

He just hopes he never comes back.

He just hopes Eddie never returns and ruins this, because all it would take is seeing his face and he’d be back to who he was a year ago. So little effort to destroy everything. And as much as Connor knows this, he also knows there is little to do to prevent it.

So he just wishes and hopes that Eddie doesn’t come back. That he can be with Gavin forever. That he can celebrate this made up holiday every year until the day he dies.

  
  


**Take a Walk in the Park Day | March 30** **th**

Gavin threads his fingers through his, tugging him along the sidewalk, through the park. Grass and plants and flowers blooming everywhere they look. Trees above them with their bare branches starting to gain back their leaves. Life around them blossoming out of hibernation.

Connor stops him, pulls him close and kisses him. He doesn’t say anything. Words would ruin their quiet stroll. He just wants to kiss him and not rely on the words in his head to tell Gavin how much he means to him. How much he absolutely loves him and how much he needs him, wants him.

A little less than a year ago they met. A little less than a year ago he was alone and tired and didn’t think he was going to get a future. Scars on his body that told him he was unlovable. A past embedded so deeply into his being that it could never separate from him. Never allow for growth. But he found the cracks in his soul and pushed forward.

And now he has someone.

Someone he loves.

Someone he loves more than he ever thought he was capable of.

Words and actions will never be able to express that.

  
  


**April Fool’s Day | April 1** **st**

He's skeptical. Worried about everything Gavin does in the morning, constantly prepared for whatever prank or joke Gavin plans on playing. He's suspicious of the water bottle as it's passed from the fridge to Connor's hand, of the sandwich that Gavin prepares to tuck into his lunchbox, of the fruit that was carefully chopped the night before and divided out into small containers. It's not often that Gavin helps Connor pack his lunch, although it has increased throughout the last few months. Extra time Gavin can spend in the kitchen at his side. Still, Connor watches him like a hawk, waiting to see what's going to be the trick behind all this. But there's nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He gives Gavin a kiss goodbye, disappearing out the door, wondering what he'll arrive home to. Maybe something harmless and small. Maybe something silly that will make him laugh until tears come to his eyes. 

 

There's a note slipped inside of the lunchbox. A little drawing of Connor and Gavin and Mocha. A cartoony style that makes him smile, something he is unable to suppress when he reads the words  _ i love you!!  _ written underneath with hearts drawn beside it. He lets out a small sigh, like the lovestruck fool he is.

 

When he comes home, Gavin turns quickly to face the door. Always inside of his apartment, waiting for Connor to come home. It’s as if they live together. Sometimes, he forgets that they don’t. Most of their nights are spent here, likely because of Mocha, not wanting to leave her alone for more than a few nights in a row. But even then, they spend almost every night together. Connor sleeps better with Gavin at his side. He thinks Gavin is the same way. A little less lonely.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking to Gavin as he stumbles backward, a hand resting awkwardly on his forearm, covering up the skin there. He looks like he wants to pull his sleeve down, cover it up again but doesn’t want to show whatever he’s hiding in order to do it.

“Nothing.”

Connor tilts his head, narrows his eyes as he sets his things down on the counter, “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s, uh, nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Gavin clears his throat, as if he has to force the words out, “It’s… National Tattoo Day. So I went and got one.”

“And you’re hiding it?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

Connor walks towards him, presses closer when Gavin takes a stumbling step back, pulling his hand away from his arm and looking down at the tattoo on his skin.

“Hello Kitty?”

“Chococat,” Gavin mutters.

“It’s fake,” Connor replies, dragging his fingers over it, feeling the strange texture of the tattoos he recalls from his childhood. Him and his brother using their quarters to get them from the machines at the stores down the street, decorating their skin in whatever they could. Usually, whichever cartoon movie was about to come out. It didn’t matter what it belonged to. They just liked them. The idea of images inked on their body. He went to school with them, was forced to sit in the bathroom and scrub them off because they violated the dress code.

“It is.”

“Is this—”

“April Fool’s,” Gavin says, but it’s like a question. His voice so uncertain as he laughs a little. “I couldn’t… think of anything. I forgot about it until today.”

“So you got a fake tattoo of Hello Kitty?”

“Chococat,” he corrects again. “I think it looks great. I might get it done permanently.”

“You should,” Connor says, leaning down and pressing a kiss against his forehead. “It looks wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“You really fooled me, too.”

“Yeah?”

He laughs a little bit, lets himself nod and wonders if Gavin actually believes it, but it matters very little, because Gavin wraps his arms around Connor and presses his face against Connor’s chest and it makes his heart flutter a little bit. As if they haven’t done this a million times before. It is strange, sometimes, to see a boy like Gavin with his rugged exterior and his leather jackets and his scars act like this. Soft. Like a marshmallow.

  
  


**April 3** **rd**

Gavin pushes him against the countertop, kissing him a little too needily when they’re meant to be working. Or, at least,  _ Connor  _ is meant to be working. Preparing the carrot cake for the next week to sell for Easter. There are carrots sitting on the counter, waiting to be diced up into tiny little pieces. Cinnamon and cream cheese and everything needed to make little cupcakes with individual fondant carrots and bunny faces to rest on top.

Gavin offered to help. Not wanting to miss out on a Sunday, the one day that Connor doesn’t have to work, and not see him. 

_ I’ve helped before,  _ he had said,  _ with Hank’s birthday cake. Remember? _

He does. He remembers Gavin acting like the food processor was a weapon, that because it could destroy carrots it would turn on them and rip apart their bodies piece by piece.

But they aren’t working. They’re kissing. Kissing in a way that is likely a mistake, a way that they won’t be able to pull back from and laugh and act like it’s nothing. Connor is pressed further against the counter, something clattering to the floor. Metal on tile.

Connor pulls away, looking towards the cupcake tin, feeling Gavin’s lips move to his throat and he sighs.

“Gavin—”

“Sshh.”

“I’m not having sex at work. Especially not in the kitchen.”

“We could leave.”

Connor laughs, “Daniel is going to be here soon. He’s going to help, too. You remember?”

“I remember. We can put a show on for him.”

“We are still at work.”

“Quit temporarily.”

“Gavin,” he says, and his voice shifts a little bit like he’s scolding him, and he doesn’t like the way it sounds, but it makes him pull away.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s—”

There’s a quick kiss against his lips, something too fast for Connor to process before he’s pulling away again, further and further until Connor can see how wrinkled and rumpled his clothes are, his hair. They look like they’ve done more than just kiss and it makes him self conscious, hands running down the front of his shirt, smoothing it out again.

“You know we met a year ago?” Gavin says, and he’s moving around the other side of the counter, putting distance between them like it’s a necessity.

“You remember the exact day?”

“I tend to when some fucking rude ass baker leaves me standing out in the rain.”

Connor smiles, shaking his head, “We were closed.”

“You’re sign said you were open.”

“The lights were off!”

“The. Sign. Said. You. Were. Open.”

“I will kick you out of my kitchen,” Connor says, picking up the cupcake pan and setting it on the counter. “We were closed.”

“Open.”

“Closed.”

Gavin tilts his head, as though he’s accepting some kind of challenge, his mouth opening to say something when the doors open behind them. Connor turns, greeting Daniel as he slumps down onto one of the barstools, resting his head against the counter.

“Tired?”

“Very.”

“I can make coffee,” Gavin says, standing up quickly. “I might not work here, but I won’t kick someone out into the rain—”

“I will break up with you, Gavin. We were closed.”

He hears him mumble something on the way out of the kitchen, slipping through the doors and leaving them alone. Daniel looks up at Connor, his eyes tired and his body looking weighed down by exhaustion.

“That’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“He’s cute.”

“Yes.”

“He’s annoying, too.”

“Very.”

But Connor loves him.

  
  


**World Rat Day | April 4** **th**

“What about that one?”

“Gavin—”

“He’s cute. And I don’t think Mocha would try and kill him.”

“Gavin—”

“Come on, Con. It’s World Rat Day. Adopt yourself a rat.”

“I already have a pet rat. I don’t need another one.”

“Oh? When did you get a rat?”

“Almost a year ago.”

“And I never noticed it?”

Connor is quiet, watching Gavin with a raised eyebrow, looking at him in a way that makes him feel almost uncomfortable.

“You’re… You’re talking about me. I’m your pet rat.”

“You got it.”

“That’s rude. And it’s also Tell a Lie Day, so you’re lying about that, right? That I’m like a rat? Connor—Connor, where are you going?”

  
  


**National Siblings Day | April 10** **th**

"Hi."

The other end of the line is silent for a long moment, like it always is when Gavin calls on a day other than a holiday or Elijah's birthday. It's the only number for his family he has. He deleted his sister's a week after finding out she had gotten married, stumbling on pictures of her honeymoon in Japan. He never asked for it from Elijah,  either. He felt too stupid and petty about the subject. The loss of communication with his sister happened long before that, but even so. That bridge is too fragile for him to cross right now.

"Do you need something, Gavin?"

"No. I just wanted to talk," he replies quietly, thinking of all the times he'd listen in on Connor and Niles talking over the phone, all the times he'd hear Connor laugh at something and remind Gavin that he hasn't had a relationship like that with his own family in over a decade.

It was worse seeing them interact. Knowing how close they are and how even the distance between them doesn't break their bond. He can't imagine that. He can't imagine hearing from his brother on a weekly basis and talking for an hour without it ending in an argument or tears.

But he wants it. He wants a good relationship. He wants to mend what is broken.

"I'm busy right now," Elijah replies.

He hesitates, biting his tongue to keep from saying something cruel. Lashing out and telling him to go fuck himself. He's always busy. When is he not rushing off to invent something that everyone always thinks will make the world a little easier when all it does is make it far too complex?

Instead, however, he manages a quiet and defeated sigh, "Okay. Sorry for bothering you."

There's silence on the other side of the line again, a moment where Elijah shifts the phone but doesn't hang up.

"Okay. I have five minutes. Is that enough?"

No. But it is more than he'll get until July, when the phone call will be just as brief and just as awkward. 

"Yeah. Sure. You want to… tell me how it's going?"

Elijah laughs, but he does. He talks about his business, about his meeting in an hour, about his secretary that has become a close friend of his. Things that Gavin could have probably figured out through news articles if he tried hard enough but instead he hears it from Eli. It's very little, but it is more than he has had since they were both terrified children hiding from an abusive and oppressive father.  It's enough, for now, to start the repairs.

  
  


**Look Up at the Sky Day | April 14** **th**

They sit out on the balcony of Chloe’s apartment, heads turned up to the sky. Connor leaned back against Gavin, head against his shoulder, watching the clouds float by. It’s going to rain soon. Little sprinkles of it already hitting their faces and clothes. But they stay. They linger. Gavin turns his head to press a kiss against his forehead and Connor’s eyes fall closed, turning against him, burrowing his way against his chest.

“You asked me out on a date exactly a  year ago,” Connor says quietly.

“I did."

“You stood me up.”

“I did.”

“No black eye this time, right?”

Gavin laughs and it is such a nice sound. So soft and comforting. Spending time with him feels a little bit like baking. When a storm is raging on outside, thundering lightning and the smell of it is in the air, mingling with sugar and spices. Intertwining into this perfect atmospheric moment where everything feels light and happy. A promise that everything will be okay. His laugh is like that. His smile is like that.

Gavin is like that—a promise that everything will be okay.

Being around him makes Connor feel light and happy.

“I love you.”

Gavin’s hand finds his, holding it tight and close, pressing kissing along his knuckles. He is so soft and gentle that it’s surprising sometimes. Shocking to think that when they started dating that he worried that their relationship was going to end up like his and Eddie’s. That Gavin, because he fought, was as violent as Eddie was.

He isn’t. He could never be. He is the furthest thing from it.

And Gavin was the one that allowed Connor to learn to be soft again. To not seek out violence or think it’s what he deserved or what he ever wanted to begin with.

“Gavin—”

“I love you, too,” he says quietly, cutting him off. “Always.”

“Always?”

“And forever.”

_ Forever. _

“Connor,” North’s voice calls from inside the apartment. “I need help. Stop cuddling that idiot and get in here.”

He hesitates for a moment, feeling Gavin’s lips touch his hand again. The same tender kisses left against his skin. Like they’re imprinting his words there.  _ Always. Forever. _

Connor moves away slowly, listening to Gavin start to complain, hands moving to his shirt, trying to tug him back down again. Always pulling him back to his side, wrapping his arms around him or hiding against his chest. Getting contact that they lacked before. Last year he spent so much time at work he didn’t think about how much he was missing out on this. Stolen nights at a diner on Saturdays. A few hours on Sunday mornings.

He understands why Gavin is always holding onto him, always trying to keep him, never wanting to let him go.

“I’ll be back,” he says, like he always does. And he will be. He always is. Gavin is not someone he can leave behind.

  
  


**Lover’s Day | April 23** **rd**

He had this plan. Stealing Gavin’s ideas of looking up holidays, the ones people likely don’t know about. Doing something special to surprise him because he knows Gavin would never really expect him to swipe something out from underneath him like this.

He had a plan.

_ Lover’s Day.  _ Invite Gavin over and be waiting for him like it’s Valentine’s Day. A duplicate holiday that he could turn into his own. Fancy candles and a nice dinner and—

Sex.

Obviously.

He enjoys it with Gavin. It doesn’t leave him the same feeling of guilt and regret that it did with Eddie. Even when he’s alone and thinking about Gavin it doesn’t end with tears in his eyes because he’s a vile creature that was once used so much he doesn’t even know what’s left of him. He was recovering. Piece by piece, bit by bit.

Sometimes, like tonight, he lays on the bed and lets Gavin kiss him. Kiss him until his mouth hurts and he can feel himself  _ want  _ more, even though he knows he isn’t ready for it. Most of the time, he doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t have to push Gavin away or make up an excuse—Gavin just knows. Maybe from how his body language becomes stiff and awkward but not quite pulling away from him.

Still.

Tonight was supposed to be like the romantic movies, like their actual Valentine’s Day. When he left himself exposed for Gavin to have. A layer of armor stripped away to showcase the vulnerability that he isn’t quite used to.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when Gavin stops kissing him. “I wish—”

“I know. It’s okay. I love you.”

“Even if I don’t…?”

“I don’t have to fuck you to know I love you,” Gavin replies, and he leaves a gentle kiss against his cheek. “I don’t have to kiss you or touch you to love you. You could be a thousand miles away and I’d still love you.”

“Maybe you should knock me out,” Connor whispers. "It'd be easier."

“Stop,” Gavin replies, pulling him close. “Get some rest, okay? I promise it’s alright. I promise I love you.”

And he believes him.

But sometimes he feels too broken to be loved.

  
  


**World Penguin Day | April 25** **th**

“What is that?

“It’s a penguin," he says, barely containing his smile. "Are you not aware of penguins, Gav?”

“I’m well aware. What is it for?"

“World Penguin Day,” he says. “It’s for you. Maybe not about awareness, but I thought it would look good next to the other one.”

“Babe—”

“It’s green."

“I can see that.”

“Do you like it?”

Gavin laughs, taking it from Connor's hand and turning it over, feeling the soft fleece. It's not the same style as the one he got for Connor. A little bit bigger and the beak and feet are orange instead of yellow, the eyes shiny black beads instead of blue and gemlike in an attempt to look like a human's.

"I love it."

"Good," Connor says, leaning down and stealing a kiss. "I'm glad."

He watches the smile spread across Connor's face, feels a surge of happiness in response. Just happy that his boy is happy and he's leaning forward, mumbling stupid things about how much he loves him that are lost when their lips touch and the penguin is crushed between them as Connor's arm wraps around his waist, pulling him so close Gavin just hopes that he doesn't let go.

  
  


**National Honesty Day | April 30** **th**

"It is National Honesty Day," Gavin says, leaning over the edge of the couch, peering down at the book in his hands.

"Are you planning on confessing something?" Connor returns, flipping the page in his book, only half paying attention to the words. 

"Yes. Only on one condition."

"Okay. And the condition?" he asks, sliding his bookmark into the pages, closing the cover and turning to face him.

"It might seem a little far fetched, but I need you to believe me without question."

"Okay."

He smiles, moving from around the couch and sitting down beside him, taking Connor's hands in his, holding them tight, stretching out the time as much as possible, letting his face fall into a serious expression, trying to make this as dramatic as he can. 

"I love you."

Connor laughs, "is that it?"

"Yes. Do you believe me?"

Connor nods, dragging him forward and he thinks, maybe, he hears him mumble the word  _ idiot.  _

  
  


**National Golf Day | May 1** **st**

It’s nice. Nicer than he thought it would be. Cold enough outside to wear a jacket, warm enough that he isn’t freezing. The perfect temperature to make an excuse to keep coming back to Connor’s side and leaning against his body for warmth even though it isn’t entirely necessary. It threatens to rain, little drops hitting the miniature golf course, creating polka dot patterns on the fake green and the concrete paths before the sky clears again.

When he was a kid, his father went through a phase at the beginning of every summer. Like he had suddenly realized how terrible he was, how awful he was treating his children and he wanted to make it up to them. Once the warmer weather started to creep in, he’d force them all into the car. Go somewhere as a family. Him and his brother and his sister clustered together in the back seat, always hoping that somehow, this time, it would end differently.

They were idiots, thinking that anything would ever end well. But he remembers hoping, praying, fooling himself into thinking that finally this would be it. This would be the time he would get a good father, he would get someone who would laugh with him instead of at him. Someone that wouldn’t exploit his insecurities to get awkward laughs from his siblings, from his mother.

And people always had to laugh. He never blamed them for laughing with his father. He knew that if they didn’t, it would make matters worse.

He remembers going to restaurants and being yelled at for not picking food that he approved of, something that would make the price tag a little more worth it.  _ You can order that at a fucking Dairy Queen, Gavin, pick something else.  _ He remembers going to arcades, getting ridiculed for messing up and not being perfect at  _ Deal or No Deal,  _ as though he could hack the game and understand what lied inside of every case and pick the best ones. He remembers going to places like the pool or bowling or mini golf and it always ending the same way.

Him or someone else did something wrong, and it made him angry. Fueled more and more until he tugged them away, yelled at them for crying if they ever got that far, shoved them back in the car, screamed all the way home about how he doesn’t know why he even bothers.

_ Ungrateful fucking brats. _

This is different.

Of course it is. Chloe and North are further up the path, laughing and teasing each other but not in the same way that he had been before. They’re both in on the joke, fighting over the paper to change their scores. Connor is holding his hand, pulling him along, pressing a kiss against the top of his head while they lean against each other and wait for their turn.

He was always against things like this. Date ideas that reminded him too much of his childhood. He would have ideas of dragging Connor to an arcade, sitting inside of a photo booth and taking pictures with stupid borders around them or racing against him on one of the bikes, competing to see who could earn the most tickets before he realized that the second he stepped foot in a place like that, he’d be the child being pushed off the seat and yanked back out of the arcade again.

It wasn’t his idea to come here. It was Connor’s, and he had reluctantly agreed.

But when Connor pulls away from his side, when the competition stays friendly and light-hearted, when the jokes people make aren’t done to make the others feel bad, when nobody gets really truly angry, when they all laugh about how Connor misses the ball when he goes to swing or when North hits it too hard and it bounces out and into the little stream—

He’s glad he came here. He’s glad that Connor can take things he associates so heavily with bad memories and turn them a little bit lighter, make them a little bit easier to handle. He’s glad he can sit back and watch North and Connor fight with their putters and know that he doesn’t have to fear that one of them is going to raise it up and hit hard enough to leave bruises or cracked bones beneath the skin.

He does feel a little bit badly about one thing, though—

Hank wasn’t invited. He never is. If he didn’t know Hank before, if they didn’t have their own awkward past together, this wouldn’t happen. He’d be here with the four of them. A fifth wheel, maybe, but an addition that Gavin knows Connor misses. The lack of one more of his friends.

He gets along with North and Chloe. He likes them. He wishes that he hadn’t spent the years he worked at the DPD destroying every single friendship he could have ever had. He wishes that Connor didn’t feel the need to hide away one of the people close to him because he doesn’t want to risk an argument breaking out. He doesn’t want to be the cause of him losing someone close to him because he doesn’t feel comfortable forcing Gavin into a situation like that.

Gavin will fix it one day. A little thing on his to-do list, right above mending his relationship with his brother. Something a little too daunting to try now, when things feel a little too fragile. Everything always feels more breakable when he’s happy. One wrong move and it’ll shatter to pieces.

He is very rarely afforded happiness like this.

He doesn’t want to lose it, as selfish as that is.

  
  


**Friday the 13** **th** **| May 13** **th**

"I didn't know you were superstitious."

"I'm not."

"You stole all the pillows and turned them into your armor."

"I fucking fell down at work and nearly broke my hand because the sink busted seconds before i walked into the room."

"Should've been more careful."

"Oh,  fuck off. My coffee order was wrong, the vending machine ate my money, Mocha  _ attacked me." _

"You stole the pillow she sleeps on to tape to your knee, Gavin. She was upset."

"Hank accidentally left me a voicemail regarding a hot date he has in two weeks. I don't want to get his misdialed messages about casual or formal wear."

"Rose is a casual person, you should've called back and told him that."

"Shut up. Some kid threw rocks at me, Con. And someone else dumped out their slushie over the balcony where i was standing."

"It is a fair amount of bad luck, I agree."

"And to top it all off that chick, Tina? The one that cut in front of me a while back? Today was her first day on the job. She's my new  _ coworker.  _ What the fuck."

"I'm sorry for your lose, babe."

"Thanks."

"I still love you, though. Does that mean anything?"

"The whole world."

  
  


**Stay Up All Night | May 14** **th**

Gavin doesn't really try, but he pretends to. He makes coffee but leaves the mug untouched on the table. The television plays a terrible movie in the background and he finds himself pulled into Connor’s lap, a blanket tight around his body, his eyes closing before the movie can even really begin. Neither of them try to stay up all night, even though they both joked about it, both agreed, both wanted to make a contest out of who could stay up the longest.

Maybe this is Connor cheating, getting him comfortable and letting his guard down. Maybe it’s just that the day has felt a little too long and all he really wants, even if it means him losing, is to spend time feeling safe and calm and protected here, with a hand running through his hair and another making gentle caresses up and down his arm. A trap, maybe. He doesn’t care. Whatever the prize is, Connor can have it. This is all he’d want if he won anyway. A few hours stolen away in the quiet.

  
  


**Pick Strawberries Day | May 20** **th**

The rain isn’t letting up. It started as a soft drizzle this morning, picking up into a promise of a storm, and now thunder rumbles, lightning flashing through the windows with a loud enough sound and a bright enough flash to threaten to wipe out the power.  Gavin is thoroughly soaked by the time he makes it to Connor’s apartment, leaving his motorcycle behind and taking his helmet off, his hair getting drenched in the short space to the front door.

He takes the keys from his pocket, sliding them into the lock and pushing his way in, setting his helmet where it always goes on the side table, next to the pile of mail that Connor rarely sorts through. A lack of time and motivation to see which magazines he might bother flipping through, the spam mail that will have his address shredded and recycled. Gavin’s pile at home is both better and worse—always sorted through but much larger. Catalogs that are sitting in a bin in his kitchen, waiting to be taken away.

He hasn’t been there in a few days. He keeps coming here straight after work, saying hello to the cat and preparing dinner on the days Connor stays late and he waits for him to come home.  _ Home.  _ As if he lives here. It feels like it sometimes, when he falls asleep on the couch as the television plays, his head in Connor’s lap, feeling fingers mess with his hair or trace the shape of his face. Mocha sitting happily on his lap.

She’s missing today, as she always is when it rains. He checks her usual hiding spots. Under the couch, in the shower, in the closet. But he finds her under Connor’s bed, curled up into a tiny ball, hiding in a box with a blanket, little pillows surrounding her. Mocha looks over to Gavin, a little bit of fear on her face. Or maybe he’s imagining it, only seeing it there because he knows she doesn’t like the sound of thunder or the way the lightning makes bright flashes across the floorboards.

“Hi,” he says, reaching towards her, petting her head. She shies away from him and he pulls back. “It’s okay. The rain isn’t going to hurt you.”

He knows she doesn’t understand him, knows she doesn’t care about what he says, but he hopes his voice and his presence is enough to make her a little less scared of the noises outside. She turns away from him, almost like she’s ready to sleep, but her eyes stay wide open, not letting her guard down in case the scary monster outside comes to get her.

“I love you,” he mumbles, resting his head against the floor, watching her settle back down again.

“You speak with cats now?”

He turns, looks towards Connor in the doorway, his own clothes wet. His eyes shift to Connor’s shirt, plastered to his body, dripping in a puddle around his feet.

“You’re going to ruin your floors,” he says, nodding to the water.

“And you’re not?”

Gavin smiles, standing up and leaving behind the cat, moving towards Connor to press a quick kiss against his cheek. “I got distracted.”

“With Mocha?”

Gavin nods, “You made her a hiding spot.”

“I did.”

“She seems to like it.”

“I think she feels safer when she’s closed in,” Connor replies. “You should change your clothes. You’re going to catch a cold.”

“And you’re not?” Gavin repeats, making Connor smiles. “I had plans today.”

“What kind of plans?”

“Strawberry picking.”

“For a holiday?”

Gavin nods, “I’m sorry. The rain doesn’t approve.”

Connor reaches out to him, pulls him close and presses a kiss against his lips, holding him there for a second. He feels a shudder run down his spine, and he can’t tell if it’s the clothes, cold and wet and like an ice cube against his skin, or if it’s the way Connor is holding him, the way Connor is kissing him.

“We can find something else to do,” Connor says quietly. “If that’s alright with you?”

Gavin nods, a little too eagerly, pulling at Connor to bring him closer.

 

The  _ something else  _ is not what Gavin was really expecting. Connor kisses him, pulls the clothes from his body, his hands warm against Gavin’s ice cold skin. Taking away the layers of drenched clothes, sliding across his body and leaving a trail of fire behind. 

And then, Connor disappears, moving away and throwing new clothes at Gavin, telling him to get dressed. They clean the apartment instead. Connor props the windows open, just a little bit, not enough for the rain to get in but enough for the wind to sweep through the small space, for the smell to creep in. Light and soft to accompany the newly swept floors, the straightened cushions on the couch. Gavin cleans up the trail of water they both made towards the bedroom, hanging their clothes along the rod in the shower to dry before they’ll be tossed into the laundry tomorrow. He helps Connor change the sheets on the bed after Mocha retreats to the closet, peering out along the doors as they laugh when they put the sheet on sideways.

And when they’re done, Gavin pulls him down onto the bed, kisses him until Connor pulls away and settles against his chest, soft and warm beside him.

“We could pick strawberries tomorrow,” Connor says quietly. “Since your plans were ruined.”

“It’s okay,” he says, pressing his lips to the top of Connor’s head. “I like this, too.”

“I’d think you clean enough at your job to not want to do it at home,” he says, tracing a shape on Gavin’s chest. A heart, he thinks, right over his real one.

“I don’t mind it.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I don’t get rewarded with kisses at work. And it makes me much more motivated here.”

Connor laughs, and tilts his head, pressing another kiss against his throat and his jaw. “I would hope not.”

“Do I get anything else?”

“Like what?”

Gavin mumbles, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can manage. He feels Connor pulling away, sitting up and he reaches out to pull him back, but Connor slips away from the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you your other reward.”

“Con—”

“What?” he says, stopping at the doorway. “You don’t want it?”

“I want to know what  _ it  _ is.”

“And ruin the surprise?”

He smiles, lets Connor walk away, the door closing behind him. And he waits.

Waits.

Waits—

Waits until he thinks that too much time has passed, waits until he hears something in the kitchen, the sound of a mixer turning on.

Maybe not the surprise he thought Connor was going to do. Like he expected him to return in some kind of costume. Like he planned this out, ready to come back wearing something that would make him blush. He was thinking sex. He was thinking his stupidly beautiful boy was going to come back with barely any clothes on like in the movies when people slip into something  _ more comfortable  _ but always looks incredibly  _ less  _ comfortable.

Gavin leaves the bed, opening the door and watching Connor in the kitchen, moving around the counters and setting pans down onto the countertops, looking up to meet Gavin’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Baking.”

“My surprise is baked goods?”

“Yes,” Connor replies. “If I remember correctly, strawberry cookies were your favorite.”

He bites his lip, partially out of embarrassment that one of the first things he ever did was spit out Connor’s precious cookies into a napkin and detail how much he disliked them, and partially to keep from smiling.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

“What?”

“I just…” he walks across the room, coming up beside Connor and pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you. A lot.”

“I love you, too. Unless you spit these out again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“No try,” Connor says, moving to get the rest of the ingredients despite Gavin hanging onto him like he’s afraid. “You won’t or we are done for.”

Gavin smiles, stands there for a moment and watches Connor’s face. The way he looks back and forth from the ingredients to the recipe carefully written out in his book. He really is just so fucking stupidly beautiful. He lets him go, moving away slowly to let Connor return to baking, the soft sound of music muffled under the mixer and the rain.

_ Stupidly beautiful. _

  
  


**National Tap Dance Day | May 25** **th**

He’s not very good at it. Connor expected him to be better when he stepped out of the bedroom with the shoes on, listening to the clack as he walked over to the empty space he made in front of the couch, presenting it as though he’s a professional on a stage. He expected Gavin to be alright, to manage to make something a little amusing at it. He's loud and obnoxious—it  _ should  _ translate, but in reality, it is painful almost, to watch this.

“Did you take lessons?” Connor asks.

Gavin pauses, looking down at the floor, at his shoes. “No. I watched youtube videos.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Maybe you’ll be better next year.”

Gavin scoffs, “You’re making fun of me.”

“I might be.”

He leans over to the stereo, presses a button and the song starts over again, “Now you have to suffer through the dance again.”

Connor shrugs and doesn’t comment that maybe the person that is suffering more is Gavin. Every time he moves he looks like he’s either stomping or about to slip and fall.  _ Idiot.  _ He loves him. Him and his ridiculous holidays, tap dancing and baking and making up excuses to kiss him. He isn’t even sure how many of them are real. He doesn’t know if this holiday exists or if it’s a joke that Gavin made up just because he wanted to try to tap dance.

He’s not arguing with it.

He likes it. He likes watching Gavin laugh, he likes watching Gavin smile and make fun of himself. He likes to see him happy. He wants him to stay that way. Happy forever. He just wants him to be at peace with himself, to be content with his life.

He hopes that means he’ll get to stay, too. That he can be the reason Gavin smiles sometimes, that he can be the cause of some of his laughter, that he can be the one that gets to hug him and curl up close to him and leave kisses against his face to distract him from a play-fight. Connor really, truly, loves him more than anything in the world. He hopes he can stay being one of the things that makes Gavin happy.

  
  


**National Macaroon Day | May 31** **st**

Watching Gavin bake with him is always amusing. The comments he makes on the recipes, the quiet  _ what the fuck  _ he whispers under his breath when he doesn’t understand one of the steps. Being able to just stand with him as he tries his best to follow a recipe.

He’s not so good at the baking aspect of it—he always manages to get too much sugar, the shell of the eggs in the bowl, using too much vanilla extract or picking baking powder instead of baking soda. But it is almost scary how good he is at the other parts. Guessing the amount of food coloring but managing to get a nice shade, or combining two and making a pretty mint instead of a muddled dark blue. Connor spent the first year of his time at Sumo’s learning how to use a piping bag properly, but Gavin does it with little thought. Like the cherry blossoms on the cake for Chloe, like the sprinkles left on top of the carrot cupcakes he made with Daniel for Easter.

He’s not great at baking, but he is precise at decorating. Perfecting things without seemingly trying. It is almost irritating, knowing how much time Connor put into figuring out how to make a perfect circle for the macaroons or how long it took to put whiskers on a cake shaped like a cat, the nose on a rabbit, the detailing of the ears on a dog. But it’s more endearing than annoying, seeing Gavin craft something from nothing.

“Good?” Gavin asks, looking to him, asking for approval on the near flawless macaroons he has set up.

"Good," he watches Gavin place the trays into the oven, more supervising in the mixing process than actually helping. “Better than my first try, but we’ll see.”

“We’ll see,” Gavin replies, but he’s smiling, looking away and trying not to let Connor see it. He doesn’t know why Gavin does that sometimes. Hides his happiness like he’s not allowed to have it. It makes him want to move from the other side of the counter and hold his face in his hands just to be able to look at it for a little while longer.

They’re happy. Incredibly happy. But he can see that on some days, Gavin pulls away from him. Maybe remembering where they were last year, when Gavin was lying to him, when he had bruises on his body because he was good at fighting, because he  _ liked  _ to fight.

They don’t talk about it. They haven’t in a long time. It isn’t a topic that either of them touch. Left instead to their therapists to help them deal with. Connor prefers it that way. He feels guilty for it, not wanting to talk about the violence that Gavin dealt with as a child, the one he internalized and pushed back on people as an adult. It isn’t as if he has anger issues—not ones that concern him. Not ones that make him feel like he should be worried for his safety like when he was with Eddie.

He still has nightmares, occasionally. Ones where different people in his life have their hands wrapped around his throat even though the person behind the face is always his ex. Always ready to squeeze the life out of him.

He wakes sometimes on those nights, pulling away from Gavin and hiding in the living room until he can calm himself down. Or, it’s the opposite. Turning into Gavin’s arms and getting as close as he can like Gavin is a reminder that he didn’t deserve that, that the dream wasn’t real despite being born from a memory of the day Eddie first left bruises that told Connor that just because every other time he was hurting him happened during sex, it didn’t mean it was okay.

He could never picture Eddie behind this counter, making macaroons. He can’t picture him smiling like that towards Connor without a layer behind it saying that once it dropped, Connor might be in trouble. 

They’re different. Despite a year ago, Connor was on the edge of not knowing how easy it was to trust someone and love someone that spent their time hitting other people.  _ It’s different.  _ They are different. Part of him loved Eddie. Of course it did. But all of him loves Gavin.

Sometimes, though, on days like these, when Gavin is a little bit distant but still smiling, still laughing with him, still returning his kisses and his touches—

He truly fears nothing more than Eddie coming back. Creeping up into his life and doing something terrible. He hasn’t seen him in years, but there’s always some part of him that thinks one day he might turn around the corner and see Eddie standing there, waiting for him.

He told Chloe about it once, wanted to see if she understood how terrified he was at the concept of Eddie coming back like a horror movie villain, ready to kill the protagonist as revenge for getting away. She offered a very sad, very small smile, and told him that he wasn't coming back.

_ I promise,  _ she had whispered and held onto his hand tight.  _ He's gone. _

He tries to believe her. Tries to hold onto her reassuring words as hard as he can, but he knows that tonight when he falls asleep, there is going to be another nightmare of someone’s hands around his throat trying to kill him.

  
  


**Hug Your Cat Day | June 4** **th**

It’s not a holiday he celebrates with Connor like the others, but he does try his best to celebrate it. Hunting down Mocha in the apartment, two seconds from catching her before she takes off again. But he does get her eventually, holding her tight to his chest and pressing a kiss against the top of her head. An adorable little monster. He wouldn’t trade her for the world.

  
  


**National Chocolate Ice Cream Day | June 7** **th**

“It tastes terrible.”

“I’m a baker, Gavin, not an ice cream maker.”

“We should just go out and get some.”

“That’s what I said eight hours ago.”

“And you were right and I was wrong. I’m very sorry—”

“You’re just lucky you’re cute.”

“I am very lucky, but not because I’m cute.”

“No?”

“Because I have you.”

"How cheesy."

  
  


**National Kissing Day | June 19** **th**

He doesn’t let Connor get very far out of the bed before he pulls him back down again, pushing him against the mattress and holding him there, watching that little smile break across Connor’s face like it always does. Even when he’s annoyed. Even when he’s late for work. Even, sometimes, when he’s a little bit angry at Gavin.

“We don’t have work today.”

“No. Do you have plans?"

“I do,” he replies. “A lot of them.”

“Are you going to tell me them?”

Gavin shakes his head, leans down and presses his lips against Connor’s. He makes sure the kiss lasts, that it’s more than their usual good morning kiss. More than the goodbye kiss he gets when Connor is on his way out the door. More than the little one left against his forehead just before they fall asleep for the night.

His hands push up under Connor’s shirt, the one he stole from Gavin a long time ago, the one that fits him strangely like most of the clothes he steals from Gavin. A little too short but baggy otherwise. He doesn’t have the muscles like Gavin does. Even with how much time he spends at Sumo’s kneading dough and mixing ingredients together. Gavin used a rolling pin once and it killed his arms, working different parts of them that he hadn’t used before.

“Gavin—”

He stills, pulls away a little too quickly even though he wants to stay and linger a little bit longer.

“What?”

“It’s seven in the morning,” he whispers. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.”

“You haven’t had your coffee yet,” Connor replies. “You’re not going to make me do all the work, are you?”

“Do you want to?”

Connor replies with a short laugh, a small shake of his head.

“Is this okay, then?”

“Yes,” Connor says, nodding. “You can keep going.”

“You sure?”

Connor nods, pulling him back down again, kissing him like he needs to prove it. He doesn’t. Gavin was worried before, constantly asking him, annoyingly so with the amount of times he asked whether or not Connor was enjoying it, if he wanted Gavin to keep going, if it was something he really wanted. The questions fall away a little bit more every time, but he always worries.

He heard the stories before. He knows what happened once upon a time. He knows that before, Connor let things happen because he didn’t feel like he was allowed to say no. Gavin doesn’t want to make him feel that way. He wants Connor to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to go slower, it’s okay to stop, it’s okay to not be ready.

It doesn’t matter to him how many times Connor says yes, he never wants to make him feel like he is obligated to do this.

He continues, hesitantly almost, a pause for permission that’s granted when Connor keeps kissing him, when it takes a little more effort than he originally thought to pull away enough that he can lift Connor’s shirt up over his head, when he can turn his attention to the rest of his body.

_ National Kissing Day.  _ He makes sure he leaves a kiss everywhere he knows Connor is sensitive. Leaving marks against his neck and sporadic placements on his shoulder before making a trail down his arm, gentle kisses left on his fingertips. Gavin kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until his mouth starts to hurt and he can feel Connor turn from liking this to almost whiny, almost needy, pulling at Gavin, urging him to do something other than kiss his body.

So he does.

He pulls Connor’s briefs off, kisses his thighs and his stomach, getting closer and closer—

"Please…" Connor mumbles, pausing for a second before squirming against Gavin's mouth when he gets closer and closer to his cock. "Don't tease me. Just—"

"Fuck you?"

Connor laughs, but in the middle of it he hears him say yes, lost a little bit but still there. It makes him want to tease him more than this. It's not even as much as he'd like to draw this out. Make the kisses stretch out until Connor is wiggling underneath him and begging Gavin to touch him, and then stretching those touches enough to hear Connor beg for more.

He reaches for Connor, his hand stroking him slowly, Connor immediately moving into the touch, him doing more of the work in this than Gavin is.

"Needy."

"Shut up," he whispers. "It's been a while."

"I know," he says, moving back up to place kisses on Connor's lips. "You should tell me next time, so you don't get all—"

"I'll send you some pictures, how about that? Write out a detailed text of everything i want you to do to me?"

He laughs, awkwardly, but he can't stop himself from imagining it. Connor thinking about Gavin coming home to have sex with him. He pictures Connor's face, flushed with his mouth open, with his hand wrapped around himself and letting out those little moans, making himself cum from fantasizing about him. Reading how much Connor wants him.

"Gavin," he says quietly. "I was joking."

"I know," he says, but he stays there for a moment, kissing Connor to pretend that isn't something he wants, until Connor is back to that needy, wanting version of himself that he was a few minutes ago, lifting his hips to rub himself against Gavin's leg. Hard and moaning quietly.

He waits until he knows Connor is going to protest him moving away, that the hands on him are going to miss his presence so close to him, the loss of a kiss and the loss of a body that he can grasp onto him. When he knows that Connor will be more whiny when he moves to grab the lube and a condom and when he's back, when his hand moves lower and Connor's noises turn less quiet, more demanding, not wanting to wait for Gavin's fingers to prepare for him but not wanting them to leave either.

"Hurry up," he whispers.

He nods, but can't keep himself from smiling when he moves to guide himself into Connor, his hand moving to touch Connor's dick, feeling it twitch, feeling him make the same bucking movement into his hand.

It takes him a minute to get into a rhythm. Going slow and careful and listening to Connor grow increasingly frustrated underneath him and he has to stop teasing him, has to stop trying to stretch this out into something longer because it's been longer than he cares for since they were last together and Connor feels  _ good.  _ Like he was made for Gavin. Maybe he was. Somebody shouldn't feel that good. It's a conspiracy theory, he thinks.

"Fuck," he mumbles, holding onto Connor, trying not to treat him like glass, trying to hold back how tightly he wants to grip onto his hips to thrust into him a little deeper and a little faster.

He watches Connor's hand as he strokes himself in rhythm with Gavin, listens to the sounds he makes that he tries to muffle by biting onto the corner of a pillow.

Connor cums first, with that last loud noise that he can never seem to quiet like the others. His eyes flutter, his hand on himself moves quicker, he becomes such a mess of himself so quickly that whatever shred of restraint Gavin had is gone and he knows as he finishes, as he lays down against Connor's chest sweaty and tired that this isn't going to be the last time today.

  
  


**Go Skate Day | June 21** **st**

“You’re going to scratch up the floors.”

“But I’m gonna look fucking cool doing it.”

“Gavin. We live in Detroit. You don’t think there’s a skate rink you could go to?”

“I’m sure there is,” he says, rolling over to where Connor stands in the doorway. “But this is so much more fun.”

“You’re scaring the cat, and it’s loud. The neighbors are going to complain.”

“I’ll give them a reason to complain,” Gavin says, pushing Connor against the wall, half out of an effort to keep from falling and half out of the need to kiss him. “And it’s not going to be because of these.”

Connor laughs and it’s hidden against Gavin’s lips, pulling him down so he can get to him properly. It’s difficult in skates. He can’t stand on his tiptoes, but the wheels make him a little taller. Not enough. He’s trying to drag Connor into him, to pull him tight and hold onto him forever but—

He falls. and he pulls Connor with him, mumbling an apology in between all the swear words in an effort to get rid of some of the pain.

“You’re an idiot,” Connor says quietly, but he still holds him still, places a kiss against Gavin’s lips. “I love you.”

  
  


**National Pink Day | June 23** **rd**

His apartment has been decorated in pink and gold. Streamers hanging from one part to the next. Shiny gold balloons and matte pink ones filling the space. The countertop has a tray of pink cookies beside a pink mug and small pink stuffed animal. When he gets closer, taking it from where it lies on the granite, he can see that it's not just a cat, but Chococat, made with pink fleece instead of black, a ribbon tied around its neck in a neat bow.

"Do you like it?"

He turns to face Connor in the doorway, an oversized hoodie falling to his knees. Soft pink, of course, with an old logo on it and—

Nothing else.

"What's it for?" He asks, trying not to look at Connor's bare legs or the way he's biting his bottom lip.

"National Pink Day. I know you said green is your favorite color, right? But you like pink, too?"

"I do. And the cookies?"

"Not strawberry," Connor says, moving closer to him. "Just food dye. There's more. I… I made a lot of desserts. And I have stuff for dinner, even though it's not pink. Sorry about that."

Gavin smiles softly, setting the stuffed animal down again, "And the hoodie?"

"To make up for the fact dinner won't fit into the holiday," he replies, reaching for Gavin's hand, pulling it to his side. "If you want."

"Hm. Did you get pink bed sheets?"

Connor nods, "They're very soft."

"You gonna leave this on?" Gavin asks, tugging at the hoodie.

"Do you want me to?"

"It's the holiday after all."

Connor smiles and leads him away from the kitchen towards the bedroom. He kisses him. Softly at first, giving Connor plenty of time to change his mind but he's the one that deepens the kiss, to pull off Gavin's shirt and slip his fingers into his waistband and tugs him closer. 

"Are you okay with this?" Connor asks quietly.

"Yes."

"And you want me to leave this on?"

Gavin nods, remembering their first time, when Connor wouldn't take the hoodie off, when his hands slipped under the fabric and held onto him like that, not looking anywhere but his face because it was the only thing Connor asked from him.

Gavin pushes him towards the bed, pushes him until he sits on the mattress and Gavin has to press him flat against it. He does what he couldn't the first time. Kisses him and moves down, leaving the hoodie on but pushing it up past the waistband of his briefs, leaving kisses along the skin before tugging them down.

"Wait," Connor whispers, pulling away from him. "I'm—Sorry. I'm sorry, I just—"

"It's okay," he replies, shifting away from him, pressing kisses against his temple, his cheeks. "Connor, it's alright."

Connor moves away from him, reaching for blankets, hiding underneath them. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

Connor laughs and shakes his head, "You know that's not true."

"Connor," he says, leaning across the space to tug Connor back to his side against his chest. "I love you. There's nothing wrong with you for not wanting this."

"I do," he whispers. "I just  _ can't." _

He nods, tries to find the right words as he holds him a little tighter, wishing he could say something that could make Connor understand that it's really, truly okay.

  
  


**Log Cabin Day | June 25** **th**

It wasn’t easy getting the days off work, but he managed it. A weekend for them. Gavin was the one to pack the bags, to make the arrangements, to pull Connor from the bed early in the morning so they could spend as much time as possible out in the woods. 

Of course—

North and Chloe tagged along. Their rooms on opposite sides of the little cabin. Gavin sits in the kitchen with North in the morning, making small conversation that grows louder and louder because he is always and continuously surprised by how well they get along.

It isn’t something he’s used to—having friends. He doesn’t hang out with them often, usually only when Connor is around, too, but still. He’s been alone for so long it feels weird to laugh with someone else. It feels weird to even wake up and know that Connor is laying beside him in the bed and that beneath that beating chest, behind those closed eyes, is a boy that loves him.

He didn’t think he’d ever get that.

When Connor and Chloe wake, they set out to go hiking. Chloe and North further up the trail, racing each other along, laughing loudly, disappearing away from the two of them and he hopes someday he can come back here again. Even small things like this, the group of them out here alone, feels like something he needs to have again.

And when night falls and they crowd around the television screen and watch a scary movie, when he hides against Connor as the zombie shows up and argues with North that he is  _ not scared,  _ he’s a  _ thirty-six-year-old man  _ he doesn’t  _ get scared  _ about  _ movies— _

He is pleased to see she is laughing and teasing, that Chloe and Connor are right there with her. That this must be what friends are like to have.

They turn in for the night, Connor pulling him to the small bathroom, into the too-small tub overflowing with bubbles and hot water and they rest there together for a little while, Connor’s fingers moving through his hair, across his skin, gentle kisses.

And the thought hits him—

How much he wants to marry Connor.

_ Someday, someday, someday _ .

  
  


**Independence Day | July 4** **th**

The fireworks are beautiful. They always are. He came here just to see them, and just so he can hold Gavin’s hand somewhere other than their apartments. His eyes linger on them, the matching scars, the way they fit together perfectly.

“Stop,” Gavin says quietly. “You’re supposed to be looking up.”

Connor smiles and drops their hands back to their side, his eyes from their scarred hands to Gavin’s face, the way the scar on his nose curves across his face, the imperfections of his skin.

“I meant at the sky.”

“I know,” Connor says and he leans forward, leaving a kiss against his forehead and then his cheek, waiting for Gavin to tip his head up enough for him to place one against his lips. A proper one.

  
  


**International Kissing Day | July 6** **th**

He tries to return the favor. Tries to be like Gavin was when it was  _ National Kissing Day  _ instead if  _ International Kissing Day.  _ But it isn't as easy for him. He's not as good at this. At pushing forward and asking for more. He wouldn't admit to Gavin's face that he wants to do something like this. It's embarrassing and sometimes when he gets close to it, he gets overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety and has to pull away and stop before it goes any further. 

He fails at the sex aspect of this. Can't manage to get the clothes off their body or move his lips away from Gavin's except when Gavin does it himself, kissing his neck and leaving behind signs of this that always makes Connor's face flush in embarrassment when he goes into work.

He likes kissing Gavin. He likes it to not mean anything else. He prefers when it can be something as simple as this. Before, if he kissed Eddie like this, he felt like he would have very little choice in the matter. That it would end in sex despite Connor not really wanting it.

He never said no. That was his own fault. Sometimes he wonders if he had if Eddie would have listened anyway.

But Gavin does. All it takes is him saying Gavin's name in a less than pleasurable way and he'll freeze. Sometimes all it takes is his body leaning into his touch less or squirming away a little bit instead of trembling against him.

It's reassuring. Knowing this, knowing that this is how it should be. Someone caring for him as equally as he cares for them. That they can read his body language and will pay attention to it instead of ignoring him or pushing onwards either way. 

And they are similar in that matter. Gavin isn't a sex-crazed monster, and he certainly doesn't constantly want it. He asks for it very rarely, and there are times when Connor is pulling him forward, moving against him with want and tugging at clothes until he'll realize Gavin isn't returning it, but tensing against him and keeping Connor's hands still instead of helping him pull them up. It's not as often, but it happens.

Today he was supposed to return what Gavin did to him, but he can't. And he appreciates that they don't force each other, that Gavin has never made him feel stupid or terrible for not being able to. It still frustrates him, how this can sneak up on him when he least expects it.

Gavin kisses him back, whispers that he loves him, and Connor holds onto him as tight as he can manage wishing that he could make Gavin feel the way Gavin made him feel, but his body feels weighed down with a strange mix of emotions and all he can manage are these little kisses instead.

  
  


**National Strawberry Sundae Day | July 7** **th**

Gavin is sick. Too sick to go into work, left alone for the day as he lays pitiful and sad on the bed with the cat, curled up small as if it will help the illness condense down into nothingness. He manages very little, his head heavy and full with dizziness. Hurting too much to pay attention to anything other than the pain in the silence of the room. Gavin makes his way out, stumbling towards the couch where he lays down with as many pillows as he can pull along with him, his eyes mostly closed because the light of the sun is too much to bear.

He turns the television on, flips to a random channel just to have some other noise to disrupt the steady stream of pain. He slips in and out of sleep, sometimes waking up with the cat close by and suffocating him and sometimes missing from the living room entirely. The light on the phone beside him blinks, the screen too bright when he turns it on to see any specific details on the screen besides numerous notifications. The phone clatters to the floor in his attempt to return it back to where it was. He closes his eyes, trying to will the echoing sound of it out of his head.

 

Connor comes home, the sound of the door and the keys far too loud and he groans at the affront, curling tight against the couch and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Are you okay?" Connor asks, his voice almost half gentle and apologetic, making up for the previous volume of his actions.

"Headache," he murmurs back.

"Have you eaten today?"

Gavin shakes his head, not able to speak the words. His throat feels like it's been shredded, his body weak and sore and too nauseous to even think about food or moving from the couch.

"I'll make you something," Connor says. "Do you think you can eat?"

He shrugs, despite knowing any answer he gave Connor was going to continue to cook anyways. He listens, tortured almost by the sounds of the dishes clacking together, the sound of the stove turning on and cans opening.

"Soup okay?"

He doesn't respond, just closes his eyes a little tighter, willing himself to feel okay enough to sit up, to complain that Connor didn't kiss him when he came home like he usually does. He feels whiny. Like a child, like he is almost on the verge of tears from the pain and how useless he has been today and Connor has forgotten to kiss him.

"Con," he whispers, his voice hoarse and not loud enough to catch Connor's attention. He tries again, this time gaining it.

"You alright?"

"I need you," he says, reaching his hands out towards him. "Come here."

He watches Connor mess with the stove for a minute, turning the heat lower before coming over to Gavin's side.

"You're not contagious are you?"

"No," he replies, as if he'd have a true answer anyway. He has no idea what's wrong with him. "Come here."

Connor comes a little closer, lets Gavin tug on his sleeve until he's beside him. If he had the energy to sit up, he'd do it himself to get a kiss from Connor but instead, he has to pull on his sleeve like an idiot, like a beggar.

"You didn't kiss me."

"Oh," he says. leaning down and pressing one against his forehead. "Sorry. Did that help?"

He shakes his head, wishing that it had. Wishing that it had taken even a little bit of the pain away.

"I have to go finish cooking, Gav."

"You have to make up for forgetting about me," he replies.

Connor offers a small smile, sinking down onto the floor beside him. "How about after you eat something?"

"Half before and half after."

"How much is half?"

"A million."

Connor's smile grows, "That sounds like a reasonable amount. Though, I'd like to counter offer with a billion."

Gavin manages a weak nod in response. "Perfect."

"Do I kiss you to seal the deal?"

He nods again, not as eagerly as he might've if it didn't feel like his brain was turned to mush, like rocks took up all the other space. Connor bends down again, kisses him in a way that he knows won't be the first of a billion or a million or even a dozen. It's going to be the last one he gets before Connor disappears back to the kitchen, so he tries to keep it as best as he can. A better distraction than the television screen, a better way to pass the time than slipping in and out of sleep so often he isn't sure if he really slept at all.

 

Connor helps him back to the bedroom, tucks him into the bed and lays down beside him, giving him only a fraction of his promised kisses.

"I was going to make you a sundae today."

"Oh?"

"It had a lot of strawberries," he whispers. "You would've loved it."

"I'm sure I would've. How about tomorrow, if you're feeling better?"

He nods, snuggles closer against Connor's chest, "Sorry I've been such a pain today."

"It's okay," he says quietly, kissing his forehead again. "Next time you're sick I'll just avoid you."

Gavin tries for a laugh but it comes out a little broken, "You'll owe me a lot more than a billion kisses if you do that."

"Oh, of course. But I can arrange for that."

"A trillion?"

"Quadrillion," Connor whispers. "Get some rest, Gav."

  
  


**Body Painting Day | July 8** **th**

“What are you drawing?”

“A constellation,” Connor says, setting the brush down. “All your favorite things.”

“Oh?”

Cold fingertips touch the bare skin of his back, outlining shapes, “Coffee. Cats. Bad jokes.”

“And you?"

“And me.”

  
  


**Hammock Day | July 22** **nd**

They lay in the quiet, breeze blowing through the trees, ruffling the leaves above them. Gavin is warm against his chest, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Sleeping soundly. Connor is too at peace to fall asleep. Too caught up in the perfect moment of his life right now. A man he loves with him, a cat he loves making lazy circles around the backyard, happy to wander around in some grass for a while. The weather is perfect. Just a little cold. Enough for Gavin to be the best source of heat, enough for a blanket to be laying comfortably over them.

He turns, presses a kiss against Gavin’s forehead for the third time in the span of ten minutes. It’s too perfect. It’s too wonderful. He never wants it to end. He’s fairly certain Gavin is the love of his life. He’s fairly certain that if he died tomorrow, at least he would die happy. Happier than he’s ever been.

  
  


**National Cheesecake Day | July 30** **th**

“Could you calm down, maybe?” Connor asks, watching Gavin slam the rolling pin against the counter again. “They’re just crackers, you don’t need to use so much force.”

“I’m gonna fucking demolish them into nothing,” he replies, pressing it back against the table, rolling it over the bag.

“We do need them for the cheesecake still, Gavin.”

He pauses, looking over to Connor, so rapidly switching to a face like an innocent child trying to get away with bad behavior, “This is the only task you gave me, Con. Let me do it.”

Connor tries for a smile, wonder how much it’s failing. This wasn’t Gavin’s idea, and if it was any other situation he wouldn’t care how the cheesecake turned out because the process of baking was supposed to be them spending time together. But the cheesecake isn’t meant for them. It’s meant for one of Hank’s old friends. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but—

Gavin’s help can be a little bit far from perfect.

“Okay,” he says, watching Gavin return to work, making the crackers smaller and smaller. It’s not really possible for Connor to remake it if it goes wrong, but he holds out hope that it turns out alright. “Thank you for helping.”

“Thank you for letting me help.”

  
  


**National S’mores Day  | August 10** **th**

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making marshmallows.”

“On… on the stove, Gavin?”

“Yeah.”

“W-Why?”

“It’s National S’mores Day,” he says, stepping over the room, pulling it off the end. “You want one?”

“No.”

“What if I make it sexy?”

“You can try,” Connor says, reaching forward for his waist, tugging him a little closer. “But I wouldn’t want the marshmallow.”

“And what would you want?” Gavin asks, innocent, doe-eyed, popping the marshmallow into his mouth.

“A new boyfriend.”

Gavin freezes, his face falling, “What the fuck, Con? It’s National S’mores Day. You can’t dump me on National S'mores Day.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Guess I’m stuck with you then.”

“Fucking damn right you are,” he says, leaning up, pulling Connor down, ruining his smile with a long kiss. Sugar and burnt marshmallow on his tongue, overly sweet, taking him down.

  
  


**Bad Poetry Day | August 18** **th**

Connor sits on the couch, arms wrapped around a pillow as he watches Gavin pull a stool from the kitchen and into the empty space in front of him, flipping his notebook open as he sits down.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You aren’t allowed to laugh, because I wrote these from my heart. My soul, really. Both. My sheoul.”

"Sheoul?”

“I was trying to combine them,” Gavin says. “I’m aware I failed. Are you ready?”

“You asked me that once,” he replies. “Are you nervous?”

“Wh—No. Never.”

“Then read.”

“Right,” he nods,  clears his throat. “Right. Okay.”

He hesitates. Sitting there in the silence, reading over the pages. Connor raises an eyebrow, watching him closely.

“M-Maybe you could just read them—”

“Gavin,” he says quietly, leaning forward. “I’m sure they’re wonderful. Pretend I’m not here.”

He tilts his head, gives Connor a look like he’s given him an impossible task but nods either way, looking back to his page. He opens his mouth, closes it again, presses a hand over it for a moment before taking it away. He mumbles something, random words Connor thinks, whispering them quietly to himself before nodding, clearing his throat for the third time.

“Two messes together,

But each other’s messes.

Let's get some soap,

Scrub scrub bitches.”

He doesn’t laugh.

He  _ does not laugh. _

But he does have to bite his tongue to keep from smiling, tries not to move and hide his face so it will draw attention to his amusement from the poem.  _ Don’t laugh, don’t laugh— _

“Do you—Are there any more?”

“I have two more.”

“Okay,” he says. “Then—Alright. Let’s continue.”

“You’re not going to review that one?”

“I’ll give an overall review at the end.”

Gavin nods, “Okay. Fair.”

He flips the page in his notebook He sits up a little bit straighter, and Connor can’t tell if it’s from newly gained confidence or if it’s another effort to direct the nerves inside of him into something else.

“I’m sorry that I

Spilled coffee on your

Favorite blanket.

But now, when you see that stain upon

the fabric,

You’ll remember that it’s

A metaphor for the stain I am upon

Your life.

Or some shit.”

It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing even remotely funny about it. Connor is not laughing. He’s not. He said he wouldn’t and he’s not laughing.

“You’re smiling, Con.”

“I’ve never smiled in my life,” he replies, his voice breaking to keep the words from turning into something else. “Did you—Did you stain my blanket?”

“No. I mean. I might’ve. It’s in the wash so I guess we’ll see in an hour or so.”

“Okay. Next one?”

Gavin nods, this time he stands, moving the stool a little closer towards the couch, his face dropping into a much more serious expression, as if he might be on the verge of tears, and there’s a little bit of guilt inside of Connor’s chest for trying not to laugh at the poems so far, and he doesn’t know what Gavin is going to say next—

But the words that come out of his mouth?

They aren’t what he expected, of all the things he tried to prepare himself for, this wasn’t it.

“You were hungry,

Starving,

A caged animal.

And I,

I,

Have tiddies as fine

As wagyu beef.”

“I hate you,” Connor replies, catching on now, feeling like an idiot for considering that the first two might’ve been serious, and Gavin laughs, any trace of sadness and seriousness from his expression gone now. “You’re terrible.”

“What’d you think?”

“They’re wonderful. I hate you now but I think you have a real knack for this.”

“I’ll be the next Rupi Kaur.”

“One can only hope.”

  
  


**Kiss and Make Up Day | August 25** **th**

“Con? Please talk to me. I'm sorry. It's Kiss and Makeup day you have to forgive me. Connor, please—”

“You fell asleep.”

“I know.”

“You know how hard this is for me and you  _ fell asleep.” _

“Connor, I'm so sorry—"

  
  


**National Dog Day | August 26** **th**

"Are you still mad at me?"

"No. Of course not."

"You are. Can I buy your forgiveness?"

"You can try."

  
  


**Toasted Marshmallow Day | August 30** **th**

"Hold still."

“I am.”

“You’re fucking whipping your head around like a maniac.”

“Gavin, I haven’t moved a centimeter, you just don’t know how to tie knots.”

“Shut up. I got it. Can you see?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good. Keep that on for a second, will you?”

“Only a second?”

“Shut up. Don’t take it off.”

There’s a quick kiss pressed against his lips, something too brief and too short for Connor to fully even understand that it’s happened before Gavin is gone. He doesn’t get to hang onto him, hold him in the kiss for a second longer like he usually does.

He waits, the blindfold tied tightly around his eyes. Old soft fabric. A tie, black and worn. He listens to the sound of the door opening, closing against. The soft sound of feet across the hardwood and something else. A little bit like a clicking noise and—

“Okay, take the blindfold off.”

He pulls it down, looks towards Gavin in the doorway and then towards the dog next to his feet. Fluffy and white and small. A little puppy that brings a smile to his face.

“Why do you have a dog?” he asks. “And what is he doing  _ here?” _

“His name is Marshmallow, first of all, and second, he’s yours.”

“You—” he takes a step forward to the dog, the leash in Gavin’s hand loosening as the dog runs towards Connor, jumping and sniffing at his clothes. “You got me a dog?”

“Yes.”

“W-Why?”

“You told me I could buy your forgiveness, so I have.”

“By getting me a dog,” he says, reaching out and petting him. “What about Mocha?”

“Mocha is okay with him. They’ve actually become really good friends.”

Connor looks over to him, trying not to pull the smile from his face and continually failing, “I don’t understand. You brought him here?”

“Yes. I mean—It was me and North, mostly. Chloe helped. We wanted to see if they’d get along. Introduce him to your house. We just… couldn’t do it while you were here.”

“And it’s just because I got mad at you?”

“No,” he smiles, sitting down on the floor beside him, reaching out to pet the dog.  _ Marshmallow.  _ It says it on his tag, a silver bone shape with the word printed neatly across it. “Birthday present. It's late, I know, I'm sorry. You kept mentioning you wanted a dog and I wanted to make sure it was the perfect fit. And the shelter named him Marshmallow, by the way, not me. He responds to it, but you can change it if you want—”

“No,” he says, leaning over to Gavin, pressing a kiss against his cheek before turning his attention back to the dog. “I like Marshmallow. It’s perfect. I love him, Gavin.”

“Good,” he says, returning a kiss to Connor’s temple. “I do, too.”

  
  


**Read a Book Day | September 6** **th**

He's been reading for a while, comfortable in the space by the window. He likes the story more than he thought he would. Told through interviews about parts of a machine scattered across the world. Gavin steps out from the hallway, moving like a zombie across the room, eyes half open as he stumbles towards the couch. He's meant to be asleep. They both are.

"You promised one more chapter and you'd be in bed," he says and his voice is the hoarse and gravelly way that it is when he's slept for a while. Almost slurred like enunciating is too much effort for him, but the whining isn't. He almost sounds like a child that had his toy taken away. 

"I'm sorry."

"It's three in the morning, Con."

"I know."

Gavin mumbles something else, lost beneath the exhaustion as he moves forward to the couch and Connor raises his arm, sets his book aside so Gavin can find a place against his chest. Warm and safe and comforting despite the fact he knows Gavin will complain in the morning about laying like this. He falls asleep quickly, before Connor can even press a kiss to his forehead and getting back to his book, one hand moving lazily up and down his back, spelling out words that stick in his head in the middle of different sentences.

It doesn't take long before Mocha is making her way out of the bedroom, too, jumping up onto the couch and nestling in the small space on Connor's chest that Gavin hasn't stolen for himself. And little after, he can hear the sound of Marshmallow leaving the room and finding his way towards the couch, jumping up at the end,  laying down on Connor's feet, using his leg as a pillow and closing his eyes, soft snores filling the once quiet space. 

And it takes even less time for Connor to drift off, too. Accompanied by his small little family. His dog and his cat and his rat.

  
  


**National Date Nut Bread Day | September 8** **th**

Gavin is waiting for him in bed when he gets home from work, setting the keys down and shedding his jacket. Not quite asleep but seemingly against opening his eyes all the way.

“You’re late.”

“One of the mixers broke and I had to help Daniel fix it. I’m sorry. Did I miss a holiday celebration?”

“It’s National Date Nut Bread Day,” Gavin says quietly. “And I can’t make bread so I got all prepared to give you date instead.”

“Gavin…”

“It was going to end with a nut.”

“You’re awful.”

“Come here—”

“After that come on?” Connor laughs. “No. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Gavin climbs out of the bed, crawling towards the end and grabbing at the edge of Connor’s shirt, tugging him to the mattress. “No date then.”

“That’s worse,” Connor replies, letting Gavin’s arms wrap around his waist. “You’re just using me for sex then.”

“Neither, then. Just come to bed. I missed you.”

Connor obliges, undressing and readying for bed, letting Gavin snuggle up close to his chest. He’s too tired to actually go through on his joke, falling asleep almost the second Connor leaves a kiss against his forehead and wishes him sweet dreams.

  
  


**National Cream-Filled Donut Day | September 14** **th**

“Babe?”

“Yes, Gavin?”

“It’s National Cream-Filled—”

“If you say another word I’m going to leave you for Daniel.”

“Okay. I’ll stop.”

  
  


**Ask a Stupid Question Day | September 28** **th**

“Con?”

“Yes?”

“I need to ask you a stupid question.”

“For a holiday?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“You love me, right?”

“Is this the question or a question before your real question?”

“The question.”

“Okay. Yes, Gavin, I love you.”

“Okay. Good. Can you ask me one now?”

“You sort of like coffee, right? Stop laughing. You told me to ask a stupid question.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Yes. I ‘sort of’ like coffee.”

“I have another one. Since you laughed at me, I get another.”

“Okay.”

“Can you come over here and kiss me?”

“Absolutely.”

  
  


**International Coffee Day | October 1** **st**

He spent an entire day with Chloe trying to figure out how to make coffee. Two weeks trying to figure out Gavin’s favorite kind. A month of testing and trying over and over again. He wakes up too early, leaving precious kisses against Gavin’s cheek and forehead as he sneaks his way out of the bed, trying to his best not to wake him up. Normally he isn’t so careful. Normally he doesn’t mind waking up Gavin, a little bit selfish in those moments, preferring the times when Gavin will tug him back down, will snuggle up close to his body again. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s nice to be this tempted to just stay in bed an extra five minutes to hold someone he loves, to  _ be  _ held by someone he loves.

But this morning he can’t. It’s a holiday. Something special he needs to do. Gavin always beats him to all the other ones, they always slip past his memory, his time filled with something else. But this time he’ll get to be the one to present something to his boyfriend with a smile on his face, waiting for that little response that tells him he did good.

He follows Chloe’s instructions as best as he can. Measuring out coffee grounds and filling the machine with water, watching the bedroom door more than the pot, hoping Gavin doesn’t come out of the room too quickly. He doesn’t attempt anything fancy. He tried before but the taste of something always off. Chloe and North his test subjects giving harsh criticism until he settled on something as simple as he could.

And when Gavin leaves the bedroom, when he stumbles bleary-eyed and tired into the bathroom and back out again a few minutes later, Connor pushes the mug across the countertop towards him and waits.

And the little smile spreads across Gavin’s face, the one that makes him feel so happy inside because  _ he  _ was the one to make that stupid little smile appear. He loves Gavin. More than anything. Being the cause of someone else’s happiness sparks it in himself and he can barely pay attention to the words Gavin’s saying because he’s too busy hoping that when he’s old and gray that Gavin will still be beside him with that ridiculous smile on his face and he’ll be able to tease him about this moment. The first time he ever made coffee for his boyfriend.

All of that time he spent?

It was completely worth it.

  
  


**National Boyfriends Day | October 3** **rd**

He's asleep on the couch when Connor gets home, face pressed into the pillows and the television left on.  Marshmallow is sitting on the floor next to him, looking at the screen as though he's actually paying attention and understanding the plot of a bad made-for-TV-movie.

Connor is quiet as he steps across the apartment, turning off the screen and finding a blanket on the edge of the couch to rest on his shoulders. He leaves a soft kiss on his forehead, hoping it doesn’t wake him before he turns to walk away, ready to head to his bedroom. Take a space on his bed with the cat and read one of the books he has sitting on his nightstand without Gavin trying to turn his attention away from the pages and to the kisses left on his neck. Ever since they got together, he’s started to read less and less. Instead spending time laughing at a stupid story that Gavin is telling or kissing him back with a smile on his lips and trying to keep the urge to laugh at absolutely nothing at bay.

"Con?"

He turns, looking back to Gavin as he rubs the sleep from his eyes but barely moves from the couch. 

"Go back to sleep," he replies in a low whisper. "Get your rest."

"It's National Boyfriends Day."

"Oh?"

"I had plans."

"What did they entail?"

"Romantic dinner. A movie. Maybe a walk in the park."

"It sounds nice."

"I really just wanted to cuddle with you."

Connor smiles, stepping back towards the couch, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Hm." He mumbles back, not quite a yes or a no. He opts for yes, coming back to the couch and sinking down onto the floor beside him.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Mhmm."

"You're very cute," he says quietly,  leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek. "And I'm very lucky to have you."

"Dork," Gavin whispers back, but he's smiling softly.

"I love you."

The smile grows a little bit bigger, his eyes opening just barely to look back at him, one hand reaching lazily out to find Connor's.

"I love you too."

He leans his head against the couch, watching as Gavin drifts back to sleep again. It is easy, happening quickly but Connor lingers there, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest and trying to figure out how they got here. How Gavin turned into this person that means so much to him when over a year ago they were just strangers yelling at each other through a glass door.

He almost falls asleep here, suddenly jolted away from his half-slumber when the dog by his feet moves to go find somewhere better to rest. Connor follows his lead, lifting Gavin from the couch and bringing him to the bedroom, knowing that the movement has awakened him even before Gavin starts mumbling and slurring words together that are indiscernible, but it still takes little for him to fall back asleep, turning against Connor's chest and borrowing against it, snores starting up again as his own eyes slide closed to sleep.

  
  


**National Dessert Day | October 14** **th**

Gavin presses Connor against the wall of the shower, kissing his neck, working his way lower and lower. His skin is still sticky from the ice cream and hot fudge. Gavin did his best to clean it off of him but he missed a few spots. There’s whipped cream along his shoulder, pasty sugar against his stomach.

It was a joke at first. Gavin pretending that Connor was his dessert today. It took a turn, Connor laying in his bed, sheets left with ice cream melting into it, cherries left to stain the fabric, strawberries popped into Connor’s mouth while Gavin waited for him to be ready again.

He likes pleasing him. He liked seeing his hands grasp the fabric, he liked seeing him whine and plead and begging for more. For how complex their sex life is, Connor always manages to surprise him. Sometimes he is soft and quiet and wants nothing more than gentle kisses and tender touches.

But sometimes he wants more.

And more.

And more.

Like all the weeks that go by with barely anything more than a few kisses builds up into a want that he can’t control, turns into letting Gavin do something like this to him, to continue it in the shower when Connor presses him against the wall and tries to get even more.

He isn’t going to complain. It’s just so unexpected sometimes.

  
  


**Boss’s Day | October 16** **th**

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a carrot cake.”

“Why is it  _ here?” _

Gavin tries to clear his throat, tries to bite back an insult like he might’ve done before. The two of them were never close. Hank left the DPD before his father died, never stayed long enough to see Gavin as anyone other than a violent and childish man that never grew out of his anger issues, and maybe that’s still true. Maybe he still gets too angry, too frustrated, too irritated.

They barely knew each other and they barely know each other now. Gavin stayed far away from him. He reminded him too much of his own father. An old man on the force trying to pretend he was anything other than a human weighed down with too many problems. They both drank far too much, both yelled at him when he did something wrong. He knows they’re different, separate entities with different pasts and different ways they treated him.

Hank only ever returned Gavin’s insults. He never would have dared to say anything he said to Hank to his own father. He has enough scars from the abuse as is. He never wanted any more.

“It’s Boss’s Day.”

“Boss’s Day?”

“Yeah, like some stupid fucking holiday? So I asked Connor what your favorite cake was and he helped me make it for you.”

“I’m not your boss, Gavin.”

He laughs, half real and half fake, “Yeah. I know. I just… wanted to say…”

Something. Anything, really. He doesn’t know how to phrase it. To combine an apology and a thank you into one. Apologize for how he was before, show his gratitude for not entirely destroying his chances with Connor. Even if they did break up once, technically. Maybe. He still isn’t entirely clear on that. They went on dates, but he never really could have called Connor his boyfriend at the time. Not until after.

“Connor’s your friend, yeah? Like a son to you, right?” he says. “So it’s—”

“What, are you asking permission to marry him like it’s the 1800s?”

“No. Why? Would you? If I was?”

Hank watches him, a little too closely, making him feel far more uncomfortable than he thought possible from just a stare. “Maybe. I’ll think about it. It’s a little soon.”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Right.”

“Look,” he says with a sigh, shoving the cake across the desk. He needs to get out of here before he feels himself crumble from the sheer awkwardness of standing across from him trying to decide if it’s actually a good idea to marry Connor. Probably not.  _ A little soon.  _ “I just wanted to say sorry. Or whatever.”

“Okay.”

“So.”

“So?”

“I’ll be going.”

“You do that, Reed.”

He flinches, walks away from the desk quickly and towards the door, trying to remember if he’s ever been in this tiny little office until now. If he’s only ever been in the kitchen with Connor a handful of times. Sumo’s isn’t exactly a place he’s a regular at anymore. His schedule doesn’t allow for it, and the free time he does have is usually spent at home with Connor or with Chloe and North, doing something other than curling up on the couch with the remote in one hand and his head leaned against Connor’s shoulder.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob, looking at one of the pictures on the wall. A photo of the force. His father and him are in it, a sudden resurgence of a face he thought maybe he could forget. He hasn’t seen it in so long, he almost forgot how similar they look. How much even Elijah looks like their dad. Sharing too many features for him to be comfortable with.

“Gavin?”

He turns back to Hank, thinks maybe his hand might be shaking.

“I’m sorry, too. You make him really happy… so thanks. Or whatever.”

He tries for a smile and wonders how well it’s working, “I love him.”

“I know.”

  
  


**No Beard Day | October 18** **th**

“I don’t like it.”

“What?”

“Don’t… shave. I like the beard.”

“I thought you hated it. You complain all the time.”

“I’m taking it back, Gavin, you look weird without any facial hair. Go… get some glue and put it back on. You look weird. More like a rat than usual.”

  
  


**Halloween | October 31** **st**

“You’re going as a cat again?”

Gavin looks down towards the hoodie, pulling at the hem of it. Shrunken in the wash but stretched out again from him pulling on it constantly. Hiding inside of it like it’s his home.

“I like it. It’s comfortable.”

“It’s repetitive,” Connor says, but it’s with a small smile. Enough that makes Gavin roll his eyes and make his way over to the couch, sinking down against the cushions and pushing Connor back against it. “What are you doing?”

“I’m kissing you.”

“I’m a ghost,” he replies, holding up a hand as if he can show off the pale white skin as proof. A little bit of makeup rubbed across his skin, dark circles added underneath his eyes. “Ghosts can’t kiss people.”

“Not true.”

“No?”

“I know a lot about ghosts,” he whispers, leaning forward, kissing his jaw, lips making a trail across his neck, messing up the hastily applied makeup. “They can kiss their soulmates.”

“You think you’re my soulmate?”

“I’m kissing you, aren’t I?”

Connor laughs and he forgets what they’re doing for a moment in favor of pulling Gavin’s mouth to his. He forgets that he’s meant to be getting his shoes on, to be fixing his hair and dragging Gavin out of the apartment to go to Chloe’s Halloween party. Gavin is smiling against his lips instead, tugging at his clothes and Connor can’t help but think about Gavin’s words.

_ Soulmate.  _ Stupid to be tossing around such a serious and weighty word not even two years into their relationship. But it does feel right. Like it clicks inside of his chest.

He can see them across a thousand different universes. Constantly finding each other, seeking one another out without even realizing it.

Soulmates.

Out of all the infinite possibilities—

  
  


**Homemade Bread Day | November 17** **th**

Connor watches Gavin knead the bread, pressing into it like a cat. He turns to look at Connor and he can feel the smile form on his face even before Gavin lets out a mimic of a meow.

Idiot boy.

Love of his life.

Same thing.

“You’re very cute, but you’re doing it wrong.”

“Really? Sumo’s doesn’t even sell bread, how the fuck would you know?”

“There’s a reason for it, and it’s not because I don’t know how to knead the dough.”

“So teach me. Be like the movies where the guy gets behind his girlfriend and is all romantic about it.”

Connor raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t take the opportunity like Gavin would for a sexual joke. It’s not really in his nature. Never has been. It’s hard to make jokes, sometimes, about the things that he still feels so reserved and broken towards. But he can imply them.

“Shut up and come help me, okay?”

He smiles, steps forward to the counter and presses a kiss against Gavin’s cheek.

  
  


**Thanksgiving Day | November 24** **th**

There’s a knock on his door at exactly two in the afternoon like it was somehow planned. Gavin opens it, skeptically, starring out at the hallway, letting his face shift in the annoyance and anger without a second thought.

“Hi.” Innocent, almost. As if they do this every day.

“Really, Eli?  _ Hi? _ ”

“Gavin—”

“You should’ve called,” he says. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“So you could’ve avoided me? Ran away and pretended to not be home?”

“No pretending, just would’ve left earlier.”

“Right. Where do you have to go on Thanksgiving, Gavin?”

He bits down on his tongue, tries not to reach forward and shove him. The fuck is wrong with the two of them? Where his first instinct is to smack his brother? Do normal people act like this?  He knows he sees people joke about it, a funny urge to tease their sibling, but it’s never been like that with him and Elijah. It’s always fueled by an irritation he can’t clamp down.

“I do have a boyfriend, you know.”

“Oh, really? Who?”

Fucking hell.

“Connor,” he answers reluctantly. “I’ve told you about him before.”

“You’re still dating him?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting?”

Elijah smiles and offers a small shrug, “I didn’t… your relationships don’t tend to last very long, what do you want me to say? That I’m not surprised that he’s still with you?”

“Because I’m unlovable?”

“Not what I meant, Gavin.”

He shakes his head, keeps himself from rolling his eyes, “The fuck do you want? Why are you here?”

“I moved back to the city a few months ago,” Eli says, looking like he wants to take a tentative step forward, push his way into Gavin’s apartment and back into his life. Like he can just forget that all their phone calls end in them arguing, hating each other, hating their past and that they hold it against each other. “I wanted to stop by. See how you were.”

“I’m great.”

“You do look happier.”

“You’re comparing me now to me, what, ten years ago?” Gavin asks. “Fuck off.”

“Please,” Elijah says, a hand coming up, stopping the door from slamming into place. “I’m sorry, okay? For everything. For all of it. I’m sorry. I was a shitty brother.”

“At least you admit it.”

“Right, a step ahead of you, then?”

Gavin scoffs, but he nods, “Yeah. Fine. You got me there. I’m a fucking terrible brother, too.”

He smiles, leans against the door frame like he owns the place. Fuck, he might. Gavin keeps up to date on very little in Eli’s life, but he’s well aware that his bank account probably has as many numbers in it as Gavin’s has pennies in his piggy-bank.

“I want to fix it, Gavin,” he says. “I want to fix what happened.”

“Why?”

“You’re my brother,” he replies with a shrug. “I love you. I miss you.”

“You miss me?”

“Hard to have a family reunion when a third of us is missing.”

Right.

Hard to have a family reunion when two-thirds don’t want to see Gavin’s face.

“Fine,” he says. “Apology accepted.”

“Apology accepted, so you’ll let me be your brother again?”

It’ll take a lot more than this—

But he supposes he can at least try. Try to have the two of them be more than enemies passing insults over the phone when they feel obligated to call the other. Try to repair the past and move towards the future. He does want that, when he’s feeling lonely and regretful of his past. It’s different when Elijah is standing opposite of him.

“Do you want to meet Connor?”

Eli’s smile brightens a little, “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. I’ve met his brother, guess it’s kind of fair.”

“Okay. When?”

“Today.”

“Alright. Okay.”

“Don’t fuck it up, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

 

He recognizes him in an instant.

The guy that hit on him last month. Kept pushing and pressing. The closest Connor ever got to smacking somebody, especially a stranger. There is a mutual realization that the two of them both quiet, smother down, forcing away the memory for the sake of saving having to explain the fact they met before. Saves Connor from having to explain that the guy he complained about, the one that kept ignoring Connor when he said he wasn’t interested, the one that changed into asking for a threesome when he said he had a boyfriend.

“This is Elijah,” Gavin says. “Eli, this is Connor.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, taking Elijah’s hand, offering a small and tentative smile.

“I hope it’s alright I’ve tagged along.”

“Plenty of food,” Connor says. “And it’s always great to meet Gavin’s family.”

Always. Like it’s happened before. Like the closest he’s gotten to this isn’t just sitting in Gavin’s sister’s wife’s diner.

Gavin pulls him away, abandoning Elijah to meet with the others. Hank and the girls clustered around the table, an arm wrapped around his waist a little more protective and tighter than he has before. He keeps glancing back to Elijah, and Connor doubts it’s from worry that he is fitting in with the others.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “He showed up and I thought it would be… nice.”

“Nice?”

“To have him meet you. He’s a jerk, so… you’re allowed to be a dick back to him. I won’t hold it against you.”

“I will treat him with the same kindness he treats me with,” Connor decides, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against his forehead. “And I was serious. I would love to meet your family, but…”

“I know,” he says with a small shrug, doesn’t elaborate on the fact his parents are dead, that if his father was alive they likely wouldn’t have met. Or maybe they would have, but they wouldn’t have ever gone to see him. Never be involved with the dad that left so many scars on Gavin’s body. They would’ve kept it secret, hidden away.

And, Connor thinks, it’s likely they wouldn’t have really lasted anyways. Connor is well aware that the violence in Gavin’s body is a result of that relationship. It wouldn’t have faded, it wouldn’t have softened, it wouldn’t have been something that Connor could allow himself to be involved with.

They would’ve been together for a few weeks, maybe.

They wouldn’t have this.

“Are you alright?” Connor asks quietly, lowering his voice to dispell the worry that they might be overheard. “Are  _ you  _ okay that he’s here?”

“I’m working on it.”

Connor nods slowly, “You can always pretend the dog or the cat needs to go to the vet if you need an escape.”

“Thanks.”

“Just let me know, okay?” he says, pressing a kiss to Gavin’s forehead. He feels Gavin lean against him, melting against his side like they would if they were alone, the arms around his waist holding on like he needs Connor to stay afloat. “I’ll be here for you.”

“I know.”

“Always.”

“I know.”

“Don’t hesitate—”

“Connor, I love you,” he says, leaning up, meeting his lips with Connor’s. Not a long lasting kiss. Not enough privacy for the kind that Connor knows Gavin wants right now. “But I know. I’ll let you know, I promise.”

He trusts him.

Vaguely.

“Okay,” he says. “You want to help me bake the pie, then?”

“I would love to,” Gavin replies, smiling up at him with enough authenticity that Connor believes him when he says it.

They part, even though the two of them are a bit reluctant to, Connor pulling Gavin over to the kitchen, hands intertwined tight, not quite ready to let go fully. Neither of them are.

 

“You really do love him,” Elijah says, late into the evening when the sun has gone down, when the food has been divided into containers and put away in the fridge, when Chloe and North have left and Hank sits on the ground with Marshmallow, when Connor lays on the couch with the cat, eyes barely managing to stay open. “Don’t you?”

He looks towards him, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms, “Yeah. What, you didn’t believe me before?”

“I just never saw you with him,” he shrugs. “I’ve seen you with boyfriends before, Gav. It’s never… been like this.”

He knows that. He’s a user. He’s been used. It was a cycle. Connor broke it.

“He’s nice. I hope you don’t break his heart,” Eli continues. “Even I would beat you up for it.”

“He has plenty of protection,” Gavin replies, and doesn’t add that if anything happened, Gavin would be the first to scream and yell at himself for the damage done. “He doesn’t need you, too, Eli.”

“Of course not.”

They fall into silence, Gavin watching Connor as his eyes finally slip closed. In a few minutes, he’ll fall asleep. Too tired and exhausted from the day. Cooking and baking and laughing with his friends. Gavin doesn’t think he got much sleep last night. It’s easy to tell, sometimes. They don’t spend every night together, but occasionally when he shows up at Connor’s place, he can see the tiredness and the weariness pulling him down.

He glances over to Eli, catches him watching Connor, too, and feels a pull of jealousy and anger.

The look on his face?

The one that looks a little bit lost, a little bit—

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

Just the pull there.

It wouldn’t be the first time Eli stole one of Gavin’s boyfriends.

“Elijah?”

He looks away quickly, back to Gavin’s face, “I’m sorry. For what I said before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked you once… if you only loved him because he loves you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he offers a small, terrible smile. “It’s not true and I—”

Gavin still remembers Elijah telling him that. He remembers finding Connor, whispering again and again how much he loved him, never letting Connor return the words because he was too terrified that it would make what Eli said true. That he only loved Connor because Connor loved him.

It’s not true.

He knows that now.

But he spent weeks trying to convince himself of it. Spent nights crying and trying to tell himself that he was capable of loving another human being, especially one as kind and funny and genuine as Connor.

“You’re forgiven,” he says, a little too quickly. “Just don’t… bring it up again. And don’t fuck him. Please.”

“I won’t,” Eli says, but he doesn’t laugh. And Gavin’s grateful.

It wasn’t a joke.

He was serious, even if he tried to say it in the most humorous way he could manage right now.

“Do you…” Gavin trails off, doesn’t really want to ask his brother about his relationship status.

But he gets another smile, a shake of his head, “No. You’re not the only one that struggles with stability, Gav.”

Of course not, but he isn’t rich.

“Someday,” Gavin says. “Maybe they’ll look past how fucking ridiculous that hair cut looks.”

“Maybe. Connor looked past your inability to understand any type of fashion, didn’t he?”

Gavin smiles, hates that it’s real, “Fuck you.”

Elijah laughs, and Gavin doesn’t think he’s heard a real laugh out of him in—

Ages.

Ten years?

Maybe more.

It’s stupid enough that it makes Gavin laugh too, the two louder than they mean to. Shaking Connor from his almost-dream, turning Hank’s attention away from the dog to the two of them.

Stupid brothers.

Maybe there is hope for them yet.

  
  


**French Toast Day | November 28** **th**

He can’t help it. He smiles so big and stupid that he feels the need to hide it with his hands, trying to still the need to laugh, to get out some of the absolutely ridiculous joy that he gets from the plate of french toast in front of him. A piece of bread with a slice of banana in place of a mouth, a mountain of whipped cream for a nose, and two perfectly sliced strawberries to look like heart eyes.

“Gavin,” he whispers. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what? Being the best boyfriend on the fucking planet?”

Connor laughs, but he nods because even if Gavin’s joking, he’s not. It’s too much. What are they going to do when the year is over and Gavin is done having fun with all these fake holidays? Is he going to do them again? Is he going to make every day of Connor’s life a mystery of what might be set in front of him during a meal or what the living room might be redecorated for?

It’s too much.

It makes his heart hurt almost with the ache of it and he wants to  _ cry.  _ Every single time Gavin does something like this for him it brings tears to his eyes and he has to push them back so he doesn’t look like an idiot because he keeps circling back to the thought that he never imagined he’d have this. He never thought he’d have somebody love him this much to make silly faces on a piece of french toast.

“God,” he says quietly. “I love you.”

Gavin smiles, just as big and bright as Connor does.

“I love you, too.”

  
  


**Letter Writing Day | December 7** **th**

Connor had bought special stationery for this, thinking that it needed to be perfect, needed to be something other than a sheet of lined paper ripped from a notebook. It’s Hello Kitty themed, little drawings around the edges that make him smile, remind him of Gavin more than anything. He writes carefully, trying to pinpoint every single thing about Gavin he loves, but it just ends up being a recap of the things from the last week, the last month, the last year—

He writes more than is necessary. fifty-nine pages of ridiculous things between the two of them. More information than necessary, but he can’t seem to stop himself from writing word after word of things about Gavin that he loves, things he did that made him feel happy, things that made him cry because he never thought that he’d ever have this again. Someone that could love him, someone that would let him be who he is without forcing him to do things he didn’t want too. It’s too many pages, more than he thinks Gavin will care to read, but he keeps writing until his hand is cramped and he has to give himself a break, which only gives him more time to think about different things he needs to tell Gavin about. Why they were so important to him, why they make him feel happier than he thinks he has ever felt or ever thought he was allowed to feel.

The paper heart and the cookies and the cat. Coffee and rain and snow and fireworks. His chest hurts like it is far too full of love and affection and happiness to contain, like if he keeps writing it might kill him but he stops, the outcome will be even worse.

It’s too much. It’s far too much.

But when he hands it to Gavin, prefacing with the fact that Gavin doesn’t have to read it, just needs to know that he loves him enough that he’s able to easily write nearly sixty pages and having to stop himself from writing anymore, the expression that crosses Gavin’s face, how quickly he gets to his feet and kisses Connor and disappears to read the letter in private, makes his heart leap with joy and he knows if he ever does this again, it will be longer. A thousand pages, maybe. A ridiculous amount that even Gavin will say is too much.

  
  


**Take it in the Ear Day | December 8** **th**

“Connor. I need you to hear me out on this one. It’s… Take it in the Ear Day. And I think me and you need to take our relationship to the next level and try ear fucking.”

Connor sets down the bag he’s holding slowly, his hands coming up to his face, leaning against the counter and letting out a long sigh.

“I want a divorce.”

“We’re not married.”

“I know, but I feel like breaking up with you isn’t enough of a punishment for that—that  _ visual _ of you trying to stick your dick in my ear.”

“It doesn’t have to be me.”

Connor looks up at him, “I will kill you.”

“You’re right. Your dick would probably apply pressure to my brain and kill it—”

The dishrag hits him in the face before he’s even processed that Connor has grabbed it from where it was resting on the counter.

“You’re awful,” he says, laughing, leaning back against the brick wall. “You’re truly terrible.”

“I try very, very hard,” Gavin smiles. “It’s also National Brownie Day. Do you want to bake?”

“Always. Come here.”

  
  


**Christmas Day | December 25** **th**

He watches Connor fit a Santa hat onto Marshmallow’s head, watches the dog look back confused and a little unhappy about it, watches Connor laugh and smile and he thinks, perhaps, he has never felt this happy on a Christmas before. Even last year, things between him and Connor were tense. Not everything is sorted out, not everything is okay, but—

He’s happy.

Very, very happy.

_ You really do love him, don’t you? _

More than anything.

He didn’t know what people meant by that until he met Connor. He didn’t understand how someone could love somebody else that much. That their heart felt full of them, weighed down like a rock inside his chest. Before, he always felt pressure in relationships. To act a certain way, to fill the silence with words, to be careful about the stories he told and the things he said—

It’s not like that with Connor. It’s just  _ good. _

Very, very good.

The kind of good that makes him smile like an idiot just from thinking about Connor.

  
  


**New Year’s Eve**

“Do you remember?” Connor asks. “Last year, when we were here?”

“Of course.”

He remembers sitting by the window, with it open despite how cold it was outside. Bundled up and wrapped in Connor’s arms. He remembers the room being lit by candles so that they could watch the fireworks exploding in the sky. How different it is to now, where the dog snores loudly behind them on the couch, where the cat is sitting curled up on the back of it right behind him. Still—

The candles.

The window.

The warmth of Connor’s body next to his.

“I’d really… like for another year,” Connor says quietly, pulling him closer. “For us to be here next year, too.”

“Me too.”

“And…” Connor trails off, looking away, biting on his lip. He wants to say something. Something that is making him nervous, something that is making him feel strange beside Gavin. A little rigid, a little scared. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies, but he knows it isn’t what’s bothering him.

He reaches up, touches Connor’s cheek and leaves a quick kiss against his lips, hopes it reassures him enough so that Connor is aware that he can say anything he wants to Gavin. He should be comfortable, should be allowed to make those decisions, should be allowed to say what’s on his mind.

“Gavin.” he states.

“Connor,” he returns, almost like a joke. “Everything alright?”

“I love you.”

“Con—”

“I want you to move in with me,” he says quickly, the words coming out crammed together so closely that it takes Gavin a minute to untangle them. “Not here, I don’t think. We don’t have to stay at this apartment. We can’t go to yours, I mean, if you’d want to. Because of the cat. And the dog. But we don’t have to live here. I know you hate the kitchen set up and that’s understandable and it’s not really something we can fix, but we could move somewhere else, we could—”

Gavin kisses him again, silences the flow of words with a smile. When he pulls away, Connor is silent, but in a strange way. Anxiety across his face but the smallest of smiles on his lips.

“Take a breath, Con,” he whispers. “Of course I’ll move in with you. I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Connor smiles and it’s so big and bright it makes Gavin’s entire world light up with happiness and joy all over again. Flooded with this feeling of belonging, of being happier than he’s ever been. What would he have done if he hadn’t tried to knock down the door to Sumo’s that night? What would he have done if he didn’t flirt with the boy behind the counter that can’t make coffee to save his life? Where would he be?

Nothing has ever gone his way. Nobody has ever wanted him. He has never felt like he was somebody that anyone could actually love, but here Connor is, smothering him with kisses and laughter and smiles and it is like a confirmation to him all over again.

_ Should they be together? _

Yes.

Absolutely.

Most certainly.

**Author's Note:**

> a lovely thank you to [same-side](https://same-side.tumblr.com/) for writing gavin's poetry. it's truly incredible and we don't deserve it.  
> [my tumblr](https://norchloe.tumblr.com/) | [a playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/user/296vro82ffu2tm06um7mrg9bo/playlist/1V17ySYRzB01YyMS4dKnLU?si=reD-kxipRd6zZMdrrsKDiQ)


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